Into the Unknown
by DetectiveMinerva
Summary: After she receives a clean bill of health from Dr. Clarkson, Violet is prepared for a much-needed holiday - but not in America, as Isobel has planned for them. She grudgingly goes along, and finds herself clashing with their host, Jonathan Holden. When her feelings for him begin to shift from rivalry to respect and deeper, Violet is terrified of venturing into the unknown: love.
1. Some Things Never Change

Was I the only one hoping Violet's diagnosis at the end of the movie would turn out to be wrong? No? Okay, good! I've had the idea for a Violet-centered romance for a long time, but I never had a good springboard for it until the film. After that, ideas started coming. I've thought for a long time that it would be hilarious if Violet, the most anti-American character on the show, fell in love with an American man, and this story is going to be the result. Not to mention this gives me the opportunity to explore Violet's past (particularly, her affair with Prince Kuragin and how it affected her marriage) and if this could have an impact on her relationship with her would-be beau... if they can get beyond prejudices, that is. All right, I've blathered on enough. Any feedback is welcome, and I hope you enjoy the story! Happy New Year!

* * *

_June 1927_

"Well? What did you find out? I can take it; I'm far tougher than I look."

"I'm afraid you are going to die, Lady Grantham."

"Oh."

"Just not anytime soon."

_Clank. _She barely registered her ever-present cane falling from her hand and clattering on the floor, so great was her shock. "What?"

Dr. Clarkson's eyes were positively twinkling. "You're not dying, Lady Grantham. The tests say you are cancer-free and, if you'll pardon the vernacular, that you're as healthy as a horse."

Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, quickly got over the initial shock and worked her face into the sardonic look she had spent a lifetime perfecting. "Really, Dr. Clarkson. All of the animals in nature, and you compare me to a horse, of all things."

The physician's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "With all due respect, my lady, I could have chosen worse. A cow, for example."

Violet rolled her eyes. "Your sense of humor can be so crude sometimes. I just give thanks that Isobel is in the waiting room and not in here. She would never let me hear the end of that."

Dr. Clarkson finally let out the bark of laughter he'd clearly been holding in. "You never fail to amaze me. I've just told you that you are completely healthy, and you're more worried about being compared to the horse, a truly magnificent creature." He leaned back in his chair, still smiling. "Not unlike yourself."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Dr. Clarkson. Although," Violet allowed one corner of her mouth to rise, "I won't argue with magnificent."

"Of course not." Dr. Clarkson regarded the dowager with fondness as she leaned over to retrieve her cane. "You are quite a woman, Lady Grantham."

"Tell me something I don't already know." Violet gripped her cane in one hand and Dr. Clarkson had to smile yet again. She looked like a queen holding a scepter; not a far cry from either her rank or her personality. "So, about my clean bill of health. Why in the world would that upstart in London diagnose me with cancer when your tests prove otherwise?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. It's possible that the test he conducted was not entirely accurate. There's also the possibility that your test results were mixed up with someone else's."'

Violet snorted. "If that's the case, he ought to be working as a turf accountant, not a doctor. He'd have far better luck gambling on horses rather than people's lives."

"Precisely why it is always a good idea to get a second opinion."

"Once again, tell me something I don't already know. I learned that lesson when I lost my youngest grandchild – and that you have far better judgment than most surgeons in London."

Though it still hurt to think about what had happened to Lady Sybil, Dr. Clarkson was grateful to hear such praise coming from the dowager, who did not dole out compliments liberally. "Thank you, Lady Grantham." He rose from his desk and she followed suit – a rare instance when a physician could do so first, in the presence of nobility. "Now, I have three orders for you."

Violet quirked an eyebrow at him, though she didn't appear irritated. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Dr. Clarkson chuckled. "If I said I wasn't, I would be lying through my teeth. First: go out there and tell Isobel – Lady Merton – the good news. She'll be over the moon to know her dearest friend will be all right."

"Oh, yes; I'm going to tell Isobel I'm not dying, only to have the life squeezed out of me," Violet said dryly.

"Second, I strongly recommend that you take a holiday. You deserve some time away, and it would do you good to get out of England for a while. See the world for a change."

"The trouble is, not much of the world is worth seeing."

"Don't be such a cynic. Think of it as an adventure."

"I am a realist, not a cynic. And at my age, getting out of bed is an adventure."

"A _real _adventure," Dr. Clarkson said, kindly but firmly. "And you're lucky. Not everyone in your time of life is as sprightly as you."

"Anyone else would think you're flirting, as high as your praise has been. You're the lucky one."

Dr. Clarkson laughed. "In what way, Lady Grantham? Lucky enough to be graced with your presence?"

Violet finally cracked a small grin. There were only a handful of people whom she would allow to sass her and get away with it, and this man was one of them. It was impossible not to like him; quite a feat, considering that it took a great deal to earn Violet's respect. "Lucky I know better, although you are right about being graced with my presence." When he merely laughed again, Violet shook her head and prompted, "And the third order?"

"Have fun."

"You are incorrigible." Despite the snappish remark, Violet flashed the doctor a grateful smile. "Thank you, Dr. Clarkson."

"My pleasure, Lady Grantham." Dr. Clarkson grinned. "Now go out there and enjoy your life."

"That's four orders, not three," Violet called over her shoulder as she left; the doctor's hearty chortle followed after her. She opened the door connecting Dr. Clarkson's office with the waiting room, and there was her closest companion, pacing the floor. "Don't pace, Isobel. You look like a lion in a cage."

Isobel Grey, Lady Merton, immediately slammed on the brakes and sped over to her cousin. "Well? What did he say? Is it good news?"

Violet was not one to let an opportunity pass, so she seized the chance to mess with Isobel, just a little bit. Heaving a sigh, she lowered her eyes, the picture of dejection. "I'm afraid it's bad news."

Isobel's face fell and panic flashed in her cognac-colored eyes. "Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes." Violet raised her gaze to meet Isobel's. "You're going to be stuck with me for quite a while longer."

Silence. For a good minute, all Isobel could do was stare at Violet, and then the words sank in. "You… you're all right? You don't have cancer?"

Still keeping the somber look on her face, Violet shook her head. Isobel's eyes suddenly sparked with some emotion – what, Violet couldn't tell. The next thing the dowager knew, a hand shot out and smacked her on the shoulder, so hard that she actually fell back a step, planting her cane firmly to regain her balance. "Ouch!" Violet cried, rubbing the now-sore spot. "Isobel!"

"Don't _Isobel _me, Violet Crawley; you're bloody lucky I didn't slap your face!" Fury. That was the emotion. Indeed, Isobel looked as angry as a hornet, glaring at Violet and hands glued to her hips. "You come out here acting as if you're really going to die, sending me into a panic, and then you say it was a joke?"

Violet shrugged. "I'm nothing if not creative." She loosed another grunt of pain as Isobel landed a second blow to her shoulder. "What have I done to deserve that?" She held up her hands in surrender when Isobel shot her a furious, _are-you-kidding-me-right-now _look. "All right, all right! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. It was cruel of me to toy with your emotions, and I do apologize." When silence met her once more, Violet rested both hands on her cane and stared her cousin down. "Am I forgiven, or have I not sufficiently groveled enough for you?" More silence. "You're not going to be satisfied until I get down on my knees, are you?"

At last, Isobel broke into one of her enormous, sunny smiles. "I wouldn't go that far; God knows I wouldn't want you to have a stroke. Although I must admit, it would be a treat to see you on your knees."

"Only in your dreams, my dear."

Isobel chortled. "All right, I forgive you." She pulled Violet into a tight hug and said, "I'm so glad you're all right. I could go outside and shout it to the heavens, I'm that happy!"

Violet let out a playful groan as Isobel gave her another squeeze. "Isobel, you are a baroness, not a fishwife. Please don't go shouting in the street." Her cousin merely hugged her even harder, to which she replied, "I told Dr. Clarkson you were going to squeeze the life out of me, and here we are."

"Not likely. You're staying."

"I know. God probably took one look and said He wasn't ready for me yet."

"Fancy that. Not even God Himself is prepared for the Dowager Countess of Grantham." Isobel said this so drily that Violet couldn't help smiling over her shoulder, yet she gave her cousin's ear a mild tweak in retort. "Ow."

"At least I didn't hit you, and I have a formidable weapon." For emphasis, Violet gently tapped Isobel's behind with her cane.

"It's like being in the headmaster's study." Isobel finally broke the hug and looked Violet in the eye, her own shining. "Good to know some things never change."

"Thank heaven for that." Violet started toward the door. "Shall we?"

Isobel hooked her arm around Violet's. "Let's go." As they walked out into the brilliant sunshine, she kicked off another round of conversation. "So, what else did Dr. Clarkson say? You were in there for a while."

"Yes, allowing him to talk back to me."

"_Allowing _being the operative word. Anyone who can be a little saucy with you and get off scot-free is privileged, indeed."

"Present company included, of course."

"Only when it suits you."

Very subtly, Violet gave Isobel a bump with her hip. Just enough so no one would notice – she had a reputation as a tough old bat to maintain, after all – yet so Isobel herself would get the message. "After he was through pulling my leg, Dr. Clarkson gave me orders."

"Just imagine! Someone bossing you about. It must be snowing."

"Stop it. Anyway, he said to first tell you that I was in perfect health."

"Which I'm absolutely ecstatic about."

"Clearly, as my shoulder reminds me. Next, he said to take a holiday and see the world. He seems to think it would do me good to get out of England for a while."

"And he's perfectly right. I know you take the occasional holiday on the Continent, but think about all the places you've never been to; all the sights you've never seen. It could be a real adventure."

Violet cocked a half-grin at Isobel. "That's what Dr. Clarkson said."

Isobel laughed. "Think of it, Violet! We could go together, if you're not keen on going alone. Just us girls on a grand adventure."

"Good to know I still count as one of the girls." Violet paused, taking a moment to enjoy the lovely day. The flowers were in bloom, children were laughing and playing, and the sun was burning bright in the clear blue sky. Everything reflected a celebration of life – very fitting, considering Violet's second diagnosis felt like a new start. _Perhaps a holiday won't be so terrible after all. _"He also ordered me to have fun," she added as an afterthought.

"You could stand a little."

This time, the hip bump was much less subtle.


	2. Gone Too Far

In this chapter, there's a party at the Abbey to celebrate Violet's good health, but it takes a sour turn - thanks to the guest of honor. This delves a little deeper into why Violet dislikes America, and I thought it would be a nice twist if a Brit actually defended the States. I think you can guess which one it is - the crusader.

Thanks to Old-fashionedAnglophile and Chelsietx for their kind reviews - I'm glad you're both on board for this. Just hang on - it's going to be a bumpy ride!

* * *

"A toast to the inimitable and irreplaceable Dowager Countess of Grantham – beloved mother, grandmother, and friend. Here's to many more years of life and good health!"

An enthusiastic chorus of "Hear, hear" went up from the dining table and glasses clinked in Violet's honor. Isobel, of course, had been only too happy to relay the good news to all present at Downton Abbey, and Robert and Cora had insisted on holding a special supper to celebrate. Everyone who could make it was there: the Earl and Countess themselves, Mary and Henry, Edith and Bertie, Tom, and, of course, Dickie and Isobel. Even Barrow, the family's butler, was toasting the dowager, and it was no secret that the rest of the staff were having a champagne toast of their own – graciously provided by Robert and Cora – below stairs.

Violet raised her glass and drank along with everyone else, then pegged Isobel with a look across the table. "Only you could ironically make a toast sound like an epitaph."

"Good Lord," Robert whispered to Mary, who was seated at his left, "Mama is actually using gallows humor. Will wonders never cease?"

"A brush with death will do that to a person," Mary returned. "Who knows, Granny may be taking a new lease on life after this."

Robert shook his head. "If there's one thing I've learned to count on over the years, it's that your granny will never change."

"I wouldn't be too sure, Papa. Granny does hate to be unpredictable."

"Or hard of hearing. What are you two whispering about?"

Both father and daughter jumped and two pairs of eyes – one blue, one brown – latched on to Violet's face. "How on Earth did you hear any of that?" Robert asked incredulously.

"I hear everything."

"Her nose is going to grow," Isobel muttered to Tom, who was chuckling at the whole exchange. "She just has selective hearing, is all. She only hears what she thinks concerns her."

"No arguments here," Tom chortled. "Sybil once said that Lady Grantham could hear a fly break wind in the front garden if she wanted to."

"The only wind I hear is the hot air coming from both of you," Violet retorted, having overheard this conversation as well. "Honestly, is this party meant to be a celebration of my life or open season on me?"

"Oh, Granny, relax," giggled Edith. "Everyone's just having a bit of fun. Just because they're teasing you doesn't mean they love you any less."

"By that line of logic, you ought to be the most loving woman in the United Kingdom," Isobel said, shooting Violet an impish grin.

Violet merely sipped her claret. "You have your ways, and I have mine."

"Violet, do tell me something," Dickie piped up. "Is it true that Dr. Clarkson gave you orders to have fun?"

The dowager narrowed her eyes in her cousin's direction. "How good news does travel," she said wryly, while Isobel assumed a _who-me_ look. It was a sight better than the faces of the others, who all looked as though Christmas had come early. "Yes, he did. I don't know why you all look so surprised. One would think that you believe I don't even know the meaning of the word _fun._"

One could have heard crickets chirp in that moment. Mary and Edith looked at each other, their eyes laughing. "Should someone say it?" Edith asked.

"Don't; it's too easy," Mary deadpanned, sending everyone except Violet into gales of laughter. The dowager felt like making a snide retort, but something made her pause and study the faces of her family. They were practically glowing, brilliant smiles beaming from their faces and radiating sheer joy – something this family had not had an abundance of in 15 years. It was glorious when everyone was actually carefree and happy, and if that happiness came from teasing her, it was all right – just this once. "Go on and have your laugh," she said, with a rather sly grin. "Heaven knows it isn't every day that you get a go at me. I'll allow it – this time."

"Goodness, Granny," Mary said, her dark eyes twinkling, "Are you going soft now that you've been pronounced healthy?"

"As a horse," Isobel added.

"Do you ever stop?" Violet groaned.

"Take it as a compliment, Lady Grantham," Bertie said. "The horse is a magnificent animal."

"Yes, Dr. Clarkson said as much."

"He's a man of infinite taste," Henry spoke up, flashing Violet a charming smile.

"Sounds like Dr. Clarkson may have a crush on you, Mama," Cora ribbed from across the table.

"Oh, please, Cora; do pull yourself together. That American star – oh, whatever his name is – the one who acts like a clown in all his films…"

"Charlie Chaplin? Oh, I like him; he's funny," Edith put in.

"Yes, him. He has a better chance of falling in love with me than Dr. Clarkson does."

"Just as well, because Charlie Chaplin is actually British," supplied Henry. "He just happens to work in America."

"He couldn't find work here? Is our government so replete of employment that decent Englishmen have to seek work in the colonies?"

"Mama, for heaven's sake; they are not colonies," Robert ground out, looking as though he wanted to slap a hand to his forehead. "America is a thriving nation and one of our closest allies."

"Exactly. Some people left to seek their fortune in America because they couldn't find it here," Tom pointed out. "Many of my people have made far better lives for themselves across the ocean because of the opportunities offered in the United States. My cousin Declan didn't have a penny to his name in Ireland, but he's been making money hand over fist since he moved to America. For opportunity, there's no other country like it. Anyone can have a chance."

Robert and Cora snuck a glance at each other. Neither one of them had missed the unspoken _regardless of class _that Tom implied, but they said nothing about it. They knew that Tom, while still a member of Sinn Fein at heart, maintained civil conversation out of love for his adopted family. The couple shared a smile and Cora spoke up with a "Hear, hear. My family is living proof of that. My father was the son of Jewish immigrants, with only a few dollars in his pocket, and hard work paid off for him. He became one of the most successful dry goods merchants in the States as a result."

"As Grandmama loves reminding us whenever she visits," Mary said, smiling at the thought of her irrepressible Grandmama Martha.

"Which is not very often, and that alone attests to the existence of God," Violet quipped.

Ignoring the jab at her mother, Cora moved the conversation on. "Dickie, didn't you once mention that you have a friend in America who made his fortune from scratch?"

Dickie grinned. "Indeed. Jonathan Holden. He's American born and bred, but the descendant of both English and Irish immigrants. His great-great grandfather on his mother's side fought for the rebel cause in the Revolution."

"Traitor," Violet muttered under her breath, prompting those nearest to shoot her dirty looks, Cora included.

"Mama, don't start," Robert warned; clearly, that mutter hadn't been as quiet as Violet thought.

Dickie recognized the potential for argument and spoke before Violet could say something sharp. "Jonathan is another example of what they call the American dream: he built his own fortune through hard work and has made quite a nice life for himself and his granddaughter."

"His granddaughter lives with him? How old is she?" Cora asked.

"Twelve, if memory serves me correctly. Her parents were on a ship returning from Italy when it was torpedoed by the Germans during the Great War. Poor child was orphaned at infancy and Jonathan has been bringing her up ever since. She has a wonderful father figure in him, though she's never had a solid mother figure in her life."

"Oh? What happened to his wife? Or was he even married? God only knows what they do for marriage ceremonies over there," Violet sniffed. "Dress in feathers and dance around a fire, probably."

Dickie suddenly whipped around to face the dowager, his faced flushed red, and barked, "NO!" at the same time that Isobel and Cora rose from their chairs with angry glares on their faces. Tom and Henry, respectively, held out arms to stay them. Robert, whose face was purple from embarrassment and ire, shouted "Mama, that is enough!"

Isobel softly pacified her angry husband, and turned back to Violet. When she spoke, her voice was utterly cold. "Robert, sit down. Let me handle this." She turned to Violet, eyes sparking, and snarled, "Outside, now."

A kernel of dread was beginning to settle in Violet's stomach – a feeling she did not at all relish. "Outside?"

"Yes. Unless you would prefer to be dressed down in front of your family."

And she relished that notion even less. "After you," she said, allowing Isobel to take the lead for once. On their way out to the garden, Violet wondered, _Did I go too far this time? They all know how I feel about America; surely, this was no surprise…_

"Sit."

The snap of Isobel's voice jolted Violet out of her thoughts. They had arrived at the bench in the front garden, where many a Crawley had either pondered big questions or learned hard lessons. Tonight was going to be the latter, no doubt. "I'm not a puppy, Isobel."

"_Now._" Isobel's tone brooked no argument.

Normally, Violet would have been happy to remain standing, argue back, anything to show defiance. Given Isobel's furious whacks on the shoulder from earlier, and add it to the burning fire in her eyes, the dowager decided it wasn't worth being knocked about like a punching bag. She sat down on the bench while her cousin remained standing. A good thing, because Violet didn't want to go deaf from someone screaming in her ear.

"Was that necessary?" Isobel raged, jerking a hand in the Abbey's direction. "Honestly, I have never seen such hatred for a country you have never been to and, quite frankly, know nothing about!"

"I know enough based on our history with them. We settled the colonies in the first place and kept up thriving trade with them, and how did they show their gratitude? By breaking ties with us, killing our countrymen, and throwing tea into one of their harbors!"

"Oh yes, being taxed without due notice is thriving trade!"

"Don't tell me you actually believe that taxation without representation nonsense!"

"Yes, I do. Unlike you, I've actually read up on the history of the Revolution, and quite frankly, the Americans had every right to be angry. They weren't consulted about anything – the tea, the sugar, or having English soldiers shoved into their homes. They were still British citizens at the time and should have had full protection and privileges of the Crown, and they were treated like slaves."

"Then why didn't they say anything? The king would have listened to them!"

"_They did. _Multiple times. Every time, they were either laughed at or ignored. The king did as he pleased because in his mind, draining the wealth from the American colonies was the only way to refill his coffers after the French and Indian conflict. Never mind he could have come up with a better solution, instead of one that led to war and pitted families against each other."

"Families? What are you talking about?"

Isobel shook her head, dumbstruck. "Either you really are clueless about our history with the Americans, or you just don't want to see it. Families were torn apart in America because some supported the break from England, while others were still intensely loyal to the Crown. Brothers fought brothers in that war, all because George III was a mad tyrant. He _was _mad, Violet," she said, cutting Violet off when she opened her mouth, "and you know it. Yes, many of our countrymen died, but that war served a purpose. The Americans won their freedom and our respect, and we won an ally. Granted, it took another war with them to do it, but there you have it."

Violet snorted. "Our respect? Why on Earth would we respect them after they defeated us twice?"

Isobel stood her ground. "That's exactly why. You of all people ought to know that people of considerable strength, be it physical, mental, or otherwise, respect strength in their opponents." She folded her arms. "Why do you think we became friends?"

Violet looked out toward the woods, unable to meet Isobel's eyes in that instance. "That's different. You're not American."

"No, I'm not. But I'm the first worthy opponent you ever had. We had our wars, just like England and America. Now look at us. We're allies, and more importantly, we're friends. Close friends." Isobel's brown eyes stared at her cousin. "Although at times like these, I'm not proud to admit it."

Violet turned back to Isobel, and the disappointment she saw in her friend's eyes pierced her heart. Years ago, she wouldn't have given tuppence if Isobel was ashamed of her. Now, it hurt, more than she would have cared to admit. "Have you converted to the Catholic faith? Because you've become quite adept at making one feel guilty."

A corner of Isobel's mouth twitched. "The pot calls the kettle black."

A moment passed before Violet released a deep sigh, her shoulders dropping. "You're the only one who can trounce me and not make a meal of it, you know."

"I'll take that as a surrender." Isobel's glare evaporated and she sat down beside Violet on the bench. "You don't have to apologize to me, but the rest of the family may like to hear it. Robert, Cora, and Dickie especially."

"Well, Robert and Cora I can understand. I did spoil the party Robert organized, and I insulted Cora's ancestry yet again. But why Dickie? I wasn't aware that I hurt him at all."

Isobel's eyes were far gentler than they had been, yet the firmness in them remained. "His friend. Jonathan Holden, remember? That remark about American marriages was a low blow for Dickie, because he and Jonathan have known each other since they were young men. Normally, I wouldn't say anything because it isn't my story to tell, but given the circumstances, I think you need to hear at least part of the reason why Dickie reacted as he did."

"Please tell. It was quite a shock to hear him shout like that."

Isobel inhaled deeply. "After his first wife died, Jonathan remarried, but the marriage was not a good one. It ended in divorce, and don't hold that against him. In this instance, it was well warranted."

"What happened?"

"It isn't my story to tell," Isobel repeated. "All I can say is, it devastated him. Dickie kept up a correspondence with him at that time, and Jonathan said that he would have gone insane had he not had Dickie's friendship to keep him steady." She smiled. "Another testament to the bond between the Americans and the English."

Violet was quiet for a moment. "How do you know all of this? Did Dickie tell you?"

"Some of it. When we were on honeymoon, we visited Jonathan in America. He told me the rest of the story, and it's not one he's told many people. Only those he can trust, he said."

"That's hardly surprising. Hardened criminals would entrust their darkest secrets to you." The words were not said with malice; therefore, they coaxed a smile from Isobel. Violet shifted her cane from one hand to the other and regarded her cousin. "Well, you've softened me a little bit about some Americans. Lord knows Cora also helped in that regard. But don't think I'm going to start waving their flag anytime soon."

Isobel chuckled. "Baby steps." She rose from the bench and held out a hand to her cousin, which Violet took. "Now let's go back inside. The party's not a total loss."

"As long as I apologize," Violet said as they started back toward the Abbey. "That's a fine way to show my gratitude for the generosity of my son and daughter-in-law – spoiling the party they threw for me and acting like a…"

"Jackass?" Isobel supplied, mirth evident in her voice.

"You had me in your corner until that," Violet said, cutting her eyes at Isobel.

"Perhaps one day you'll be in the Americans' corner as well."

Violet gave her friend a sideways grin. "That, darling, is one victory the Americans will never have over the English," she declared, prompting a hearty laugh from Isobel as they went along.


	3. The Truth is Out

In this chapter, Isobel has an idea for the upcoming holiday, one that will yank the rug out from under Violet's feet, and she ropes Dickie into helping her. Violet's two despicable staff members, Spratt and Denker, also star in this chapter, and did I ever have fun writing for them!

There's a nod to _Maleficent: Mistress of Evil _in this chapter - cyber points to your Hogwarts house if you guess it correctly!

* * *

"I don't agree with the Hindu belief in reincarnation, but if it did hold water, I would assume that Violet is a reborn redcoat from 1776."

Isobel chuckled as she poured tea for herself and her husband. "Violet with a musket; there's a frightening thought. Had she been in command of the British army instead of Cornwallis, the Americans probably would have surrendered without firing a shot."

"Can you imagine those terms of surrender? She would have demanded they pay tribute, not just taxes."

"Not tribute, homage. Ironic, considering that whenever Cora's mother visits, Violet claims that saying hello to her is akin to paying homage. Her term of endearment for Martha is 'the Queen of Sheba.'"

"I thought it was 'that woman.'"

"Well, that too."

Dickie's laugh was a rich rumble as Isobel passed him his teacup. "I know that some of our people still hold a grudge against America, but isn't it time to let bygones be bygones? From what you've told me, Violet has no reason to hate the United States, other than her dislike of Martha Levinson – and not even that is a valid reason."

"Darling, I love Violet like my own sister, but she does have a tendency to let one bad experience with one person color her opinion of the entire group. In her eyes, most, if not all, Americans are just like Mrs. Levinson: ostentatious and obnoxious. It's arrogance over being so much more progressive than the stuffy old English, she thinks."

"Did she really say that?" Dickie asked, laughing out loud.

"Not in so many words, but I know how her mind works. She did say that our little talk in the garden softened her a bit, but I don't know how true that is."

Dickie's eyes, as gray as his surname, glowed silver as he admired his wife. "What a spitfire I married. I would have given my eyeteeth to have been privy to that conversation."

"You'd have been surprised I wasn't waving an American flag in Violet's face."

"Had you been alive in 1776, I imagine you would have defected to the Yankee side. Benjamin Franklin would have been dancing a jig."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"In this instance, a good thing. I've known too many decent Americans to believe they're all boors. If only Violet could meet Jonathan; then she'd see what a true American is like."

A light flashed in Isobel's eyes and a large smile lit her entire face. "Why not?"

Dickie frowned, unsure of what she was talking about. "Why not what?"

"Why not meet Jonathan? Violet said herself that Dr. Clarkson ordered her to take a holiday. There's no reason why that holiday can't be in America."

Dickie held up a hand. "I can think of one very big reason, and it's over at the Dower House at this very moment."

"Dickie, the only thing that's big about Violet is her mouth, as you well know," Isobel said. "When there's a will, there's a way, and as long as I have a will, Violet won't get her way, not this time."

Observing the determination on his wife's face, Dickie grinned. "What are you plotting? I can see the wheels turning in your head."

Isobel looked like the cat that caught the canary. "I'm going to book the trip overseas myself. I'll go to London and buy the tickets from the Cunard office, but I might need your help with the lodging arrangements."

"Translated into plain English, you want me to phone Jonathan and see if he'll host us at his home."

"In plain English, yes."

Dickie burst out laughing, clapping his hands in glee. "Isobel, my dearest, that is positively diabolical! You're planning to pull the rug out from under Violet and give her no choice in the matter. I think she's rubbed off on you after all this time."

Isobel grinned again. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted by that."

"Let me say this: it'll be good for Violet to get a taste of her own medicine, from one who knows her like a book."

"Flattered it is, then."

Still chortling, Dickie took a hearty swig of tea. "Shall we venture to London tomorrow? I'll phone Jonathan tonight – you know they're hours behind us. With any luck, I'll catch him when it's afternoon in his part of the world."

"Sounds like a splendid plan to me." Isobel rose from her seat and walked over to Dickie, dropping a soft kiss on his lips. "I'm so glad you're in this with me."

"For better or worse, my darling." Dickie caressed Isobel's cheek and deepened their kiss.

"Here's hoping that taking Violet to America will be for the better, although I imagine that her reaction will definitely be worse," Isobel said, prompting another laugh from her husband.

* * *

Isobel was quite right about Violet's reaction, although delivering the news didn't go exactly as she had planned. Following the successful trip to London – the purchase of the Cunard steamship tickets, an inquiry about a train to their final destination, and Dickie's transatlantic phone call – the holiday had all been arranged. Unbeknownst to the Mertons, while they were discussing their newly-laid plan over tea at a local shop, they were overheard by someone – one very close to Violet.

Gladys Denker, lady's maid to the dowager countess, was shaking with silent laughter as she sorted out Her Ladyship's new gowns. What good fortune to have been in London at the same time as Lord and Lady Merton, at the same tea shop, no less! And to have overheard such delicious news about Lady Grantham, a plot worthy of Machiavelli and cooked up by Her Ladyship's closest friend… what a coup, indeed. _Wait until Her Ladyship hears this!_

Denker knew she was risking the house being screamed down around her ears by imparting this news to Lady Grantham, but the look on the old bat's face would be well worth it. Loyal as she was to her mistress, the woman could be hell to work for sometimes, and it was fun to push her buttons now and then. Even better, this was a privilege she could forever lord over Spratt, the pompous little twit. He may have been able to make Lady Grantham howl with laughter over his agony aunt's column, but she would have the satisfaction of causing the biggest tantrum since Bloody Mary tried to crush the Church of England. A holiday in America, for three months? Lady Grantham would sooner be boiled in oil, Denker knew that for certain. _Yes, _she thought, smiling widely, _this is going to be fantastic._

"Why are you smiling like that?"

The grin grew even wider. _Perfect. _Denker turned to face her hated rival, who was standing in the open doorway of Lady Grantham's bedroom. Spratt greatly resembled a toad at times, with his fat little frame, pudgy cheeks, and bulging eyes, and today was no exception. He was practically swelling with suspicion; all the better for Denker to yank on his leg. "It's a free country, Mr. Spratt. Can't I smile if I'm in a good mood?"

"That's just it; you never smile, and you're bloody well never in a good mood," Spratt said, his eyebrows knitted tightly together. "What happened while you were in London? Did you murder a child and drink its blood?"

Pretending the words had wounded her, Denker laid a hand over her heart. "Mr. Spratt, I'm shocked. I'd sooner cut out my own heart than harm a child."

"That would imply you actually have a heart, Miss Denker." Spratt folded his arms while Denker continued putting the dowager's clothes away. "Out with it. What's put that Cheshire Cat grin on your face?"

Said grin returned. "Nothing. I had a lovely time in London, that's all."

"You practically cleaned Selfridge's out of frocks and fripperies at Her Ladyship's orders and were essentially playing the role of a beast of burden. In a pig's eye you had a lovely time."

"Believe what you will, Mr. Spratt. I did have a lovely time, and nothing you say will spoil my mood." The sound of a car pulling up outside caught Denker's ear and her grin turned just a shade smarmier. "You'd best go greet Her Ladyship."

Spratt glared at her. "One of these days, Miss Denker, your pride will get the better of you."

Determined to have the last word, Denker fired back, "In a pig's eye, Mr. Spratt," just as the butler departed. Spratt turned and gave her a gesture that would have made the dowager clutch her pearls, but it mattered little. Denker had gotten the last word, and all that was left to do was give Lady Grantham the good news – or vice versa, depending on her reaction.

Before long, Lady Grantham herself entered the bedroom. It never ceased to amaze Denker how the dowager could still climb the stairs with that cane of hers, but the woman was more agile than she let on sometimes. Though she was fit to bursting with excitement, Denker put on her composed maid face and curtsied to her mistress. "Good evening, Your Ladyship."

"Good evening, Denker," Lady Grantham said, while Denker helped her shed her lightweight summer coat and hat. "How was your journey to London? I trust it was safe?"

_I'm in one piece, so clearly, it was safe, _Denker thought. "Yes, milady," was her polite reply. "Your new silk frocks are in the wardrobe, and the hat you requested is still in its box. Would you like to see it?"

The dowager smiled. "Thank you, but I'd rather see the gowns. I admit, I'm quite excited."

_You and me both. _"Of course, milady." Denker turned to the wardrobe, opened the doors, and withdrew one gown of a deep scarlet, patterned with embossed summer roses. Lady Grantham nodded her approval and pronounced the frock lovely; the same went for a dress of emerald green. But it was when Denker held up the third frock, a sapphire-blue watered silk with tiny diamonds sewn into the fabric, that the dowager lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she exclaimed, gathering the folds of the skirt in one hand. Denker couldn't help smiling just a bit. Lady Grantham was not an overly emotional person, but she was like a child in a sweetshop at the moment. Granted, she was going bonkers over a frock that would feed a working-class family for months, but still. "It's fit for a queen, milady." _Great. It may be sweet to see her get excitable, but you had to go and stroke her ego. Probably thinks she's more fit to rule than Queen Mary herself. That trip to America ought to knock her off her high horse._

"I might wear it to dinner tonight."

_So you can show off?_ "With all due respect, milady, perhaps you should save it for a special occasion." _Time to have some fun. _"Like your holiday with Lady Merton. She has a wonderful surprise for you."

"Oh?" Lady Grantham's brows rose in pleasant surprise. "Has she already planned our destination? How did you hear about this?"

"They happened to be in London at the same time I was, and I overheard them talking in the tea shop I was in." No shame in admitting she had eavesdropped on Lord and Lady Merton – for all her puritanical attitudes, Lady Grantham was not above a good intrigue or a juicy piece of gossip. And, of course, servants heard and saw everything; all the better to stab you in the back, my dear. Or play your mistress' nerves like a fiddle. "Lady Merton said that all the arrangements have been made for the next three months."

"A three-month holiday? That's generous of Lord and Lady Merton." Indeed, Lady Grantham looked pleased, but Denker knew it wouldn't last for long. "Did she say where?"

Mirth bubbled up inside Denker, but she clamped a hand firmly on the cork. "Overseas, milady." Oh, she wasn't going to come right out with it, not yet. Stringing Lady Grantham along was half the fun.

It took a second or two for the word _overseas _to register. Lady Grantham's smile slowly slipped and she strode to the window, keeping her back to her maid. After a moment, she spoke, never turning once. "I pray that by _overseas, _you mean Italy, Greece, or something across the channel."

"Not exactly, milady. It's farther west than that."

"The Cayman Islands, perhaps?"

"No, milady."

"Bermuda? Or any other English territory in the Atlantic Ocean?"

"No, milady." Denker paused for effect, waiting to lower the boom. _Here comes Vesuvius. _"Lord and Lady Merton have arranged a holiday in the United –"

"_Don't,_" Lady Grantham snapped loudly, turning to reveal outrage solidifying in her eyes, "ruin my evening."

Though the anger on her face and her utterly cold blue eyes were a sight to behold, Lady Grantham's reaction was a complete anticlimax. Denker had fully expected her to shriek like a banshee at the news; rather, contained rage was what she got. "My apologies, Your Ladyship," Denker murmured, truthfully feeling sorry for herself.

Lady Grantham waved a hand impatiently. "I'll wear the red tonight, with the ruby necklace and earrings. And do be quick about it; I'd like to get there to greet my _dear cousin._"

_Red to match your temper; there's a novelty. _"Yes, milady."

After Lady Grantham had been dolled up for dinner and sent to the Abbey – to have a go at Lady Merton, no doubt – Denker packed the dowager's day dress away, muttering angrily to herself. So much for having a colossal tantrum to lord over that plump, pompous, peabrained –

"Lady Grantham took the news well, I must say."

Clenching her teeth tightly together, Denker slammed the wardrobe door shut and fired her filthiest look at Spratt, who now lounged in the doorway like he owned the house. "You were listening, weren't you? Didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to eavesdrop?"

"It must be exhausting, being the greatest hypocrite in the United Kingdom," Spratt retorted, his smile oily.

"_Second _greatest, _Miss Cassandra Jones,_" Denker spat back at him, only too happy to throw his advice column alias in his face.

Alas, Spratt was one of those people who could fall in a pigsty and come up smelling like a rose. He merely beamed in response. "No, Miss Denker; you truly bear the crown in this instance. And for once, I am pleased to defer to you." He made her an exaggerated bow and said, as he took his leave, "By the way, that watered silk frock with the diamonds? Who do you think recommended it to Lady Grantham? A certain Miss Jones, that's who." He winked annoyingly at her, flashed her that insipid smile again, and left her struggling for the last word – but it never came.


	4. Fire and Ice

Last time, Denker had spilled the beans to Violet about the trip to America, and Violet was not a happy camper (of course). This chapter is their culminating argument - who will win? Robert, Mary, and Edith can't wait to find out, either, as you will see!

* * *

"My goodness, they're really having a go at each other, aren't they?"

"Keep your voice down! We'll get caught if we blare our presence out here."

"Calm down, Edith. The way they're rowing in there, I doubt they could hear a bomb go off. We're not going to get caught."

"That's what you two think."

Both Mary and Edith jumped as they turned to their father, who was staring at them as if they were naughty children stealing from the biscuit jar. Silence passed for a moment until Robert spoke again. "You don't know very much about listening at the keyhole, do you?"

Mary and Edith looked at each other. This was nothing new for either of them – they'd certainly listened in on each other in their younger years, and the two of them, along with Sybil, had often bunched up outside the library door to spy on their parents' private conversations. Now, they were listening at the library door again, albeit with their father staring them down. An awkward situation, indeed. "Papa –" Mary began, but Robert held up a hand. The girls kept quiet, bracing themselves for a lecture.

It never came. Robert motioned them away from the door and said, as casually as you please, "Let an old hand show you how it's done."

Both of the girls' jaws dropped in astonishment. The Earl of Grantham, straight arrow that he was, spying at the keyhole? Robert grinned at his daughters. "Don't laugh. Your Aunt Rosamund and I used to do this all the time. I was young once, as inconceivable as that may be."

"I know that," Edith said, as Robert positioned himself near the door. "It's just amazing to know that the Earl of Grantham is a keyhole spy."

"In this instance only," Robert warned them. "This is too rich to pass up. Now, let's be quiet as mice and listen." Father and daughters clammed up and pressed their ears to the door, eager to hear what sounded like the row of the century…

* * *

Inside the library, it was Violet's turn to pace up and down like a lion in a cage, although _stalk _would have been a more appropriate verb. It seemed to Isobel that her cousin resembled a flame at that moment: with her brilliant red gown, rubies flashing at her ears and throat, and her red-hot temper to match, she was as scorching as fire itself. _It's a good thing that Violet's hair isn't red anymore, _Isobel thought. _Nothing else needs to add to the effect. _She herself was dressed in a frock of ice-blue silk and silver beading, paired with the aquamarines that Dickie had given her for her birthday. _She's fire and I'm ice. Normally, it's the other way round, but here's hoping I can cool her off tonight._

"What galls me about this whole thing, other than your blatant disregard for my feelings, is your having the sheer audacity to go behind my back and plan this out, like some sort of intrigue!"

"So it's perfectly fine for you to plot behind the backs of others, but when someone turns around and does the same to you, it's another world war. Good to know how that works."

Violet angrily stabbed her cane into the floor with a thump that echoed in the spacious room. "This is not about my supposed double standards, Isobel," she spat. "This is about you dragging me into three months of hell!"

"How do you know that? You never know until you try, and quite frankly, Violet, you don't want to try because you're terrified of being proven wrong."

"Certainly not! I'm never –"

"Don't even give me _I'm never wrong. _It's rubbish, and you know it. You don't want to be pleasantly surprised to find that America is not as awful as you think, so you're determined to act like a spoiled child until you get your way."

Violet raised her chin. "What are you going to do? Spank me?"

"Don't tempt me," Isobel growled.

Outside, Robert and the girls were shaking with barely suppressed mirth, and at Violet's spanking comment, Mary released a strangled squeak of a giggle.

"Ssh!" Edith shushed her, clamping a hand over Mary's mouth. "They'll hear you with that loud a squeak!"

"No, they won't," Mary retorted, still chuckling. "I just have this picture in my head of Isobel taking Granny over her knee, and it's hilarious!"

"Lord, would I pay money to see that," Robert muttered.

"Papa! You wouldn't actually advocate a fight under Downton's roof, would you?" Edith asked.

"No, I wouldn't, and may God forgive me for saying this, but many a time have I wished someone would take your granny over their knee."

"And you can't do it because it's unheard of for a son to spank his mother," Mary whispered, grinning at her father.

Robert shot a cynical look Mary's way. "Would you want to be within swinging distance of that cane?" Point made, he motioned for quiet and they all nosed in on the argument once more.

"You can't back out of this, Violet," Isobel said, as her cousin continued to rage up and down.

"Back out? How can I back out when I never even entered in?"

"There are three tickets from Liverpool to New York, which we cannot get our money back for –"

"That's your stupidity, then. Find someone else to give the ticket to. Ask Mary or Edith; for heaven's sake, give it to my maid. She needs to be rewarded for warning me about this… this _betrayal._"

Isobel felt heat rise to her face at that remark. This was no betrayal – a prank, perhaps, but not a betrayal. She wasn't one for violence, but at the moment, Isobel couldn't decide who she would like to choke more: Violet for her cussed stubbornness, or Denker for letting the cat out of the bag. "You want to talk betrayals? At least I'm not the one who went behind Cora's back to hide the fact that she had a third grandchild."

Violet froze, hurt flashing in her eyes. "That was low," she said in a dangerous voice.

"Sometimes you have to fight dirty in order to win a fight." Isobel stood up and strode up to Violet. "And here's another low blow for you. I couldn't give these tickets away if I tried. The one I purchased for you is in your name; it can't be used by anyone else. Dickie has already told Jonathan that we're bringing a friend –"

"Wait a moment," Violet commanded, holding up a hand. "What do you mean, you told Jonathan you're bringing a friend? Jonathan Holden, Dickie's friend? Am I to understand that you made arrangements to stay with him?"

"Oh, did Denker not tell you that?" Isobel asked, not caring in the slightest how sarcastic she sounded. "Yes, we will be staying with Jonathan during our holiday, rather than shelling out a fortune for a hotel."

Violet's jaw dropped. "Isobel, are you mad? He's –"

"I'm very aware that he's American. That's precisely why Dickie and I arranged this holiday, so you can see what a decent American is really like."

All of the tension in Violet's shoulders seemed to drop. "That isn't what I was going to say, but that's why you arranged this? To change my mind about America?"

"Yes. Rant and rave and scream the house down if you like, but that's why."

Violet let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. For a moment, I thought…"

"You thought what?" Isobel folded her arms. "And why aren't you bellowing at me over this? I'd have thought you'd go into a tizzy when I told you the truth."

To Isobel's surprise, Violet blushed. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Isobel smiled. "Liar. Your face is nearly as red as your gown. What did you think I meant?"

Violet scowled. "You'll laugh if I tell you."

"No, I won't. I promise." Isobel raised a hand in oath. "What was it?"

Silence passed while Violet appeared to wrestle with her thoughts. "I thought that since he's a widower – well, divorcé – and I'm widowed as well, you were trying…" Violet trailed off, her cheeks flaming. "Oh God, this is so humiliating…"

"You thought I was trying to play matchmaker?"

Violet's scowl deepened when Isobel's face lit up. "You promised. One chuckle out of you and it's war."

"Oh, stop it. You sound like a petulant teenager." Isobel took her cousin's hand and led her back to the couch. "Believe me, Violet; playing matchmaker between you and Jonathan is the last thing I'd have thought of. All I hoped for was a good friendship, nothing more."

"Friendship? Isobel, it's hardly proper for a woman to have a friendship with a man."

This time, Isobel did laugh. "Hardly proper? That's balderdash. What about Mary and Tom? They maintain a good friendship and you've never said anything about it."

"Tom is a member of this family. He is Mary's brother-in-law; it's no wonder she maintains that kind of relationship with him."

"Well, what about Dr. Clarkson and me? We've been good friends for years, and you know there's nothing at all improper about it."

"You're a nurse and he's a physician; not to mention you're a married woman. There's decorum you both know you must maintain."

"Daisy and Mr. Mason?"

"Don't be ridiculous. That's her father-in-law."

"All right, I'll go you one better: Barrow and Baxter."

Violet shot Isobel a _yeah-right _look. "Isobel, do be serious. Everyone knows why Barrow can keep a friendship with Cora's maid and not raise any eyebrows."

Isobel wasn't even fazed. "You're grasping at straws, Violet. There is no reason on Earth why a woman can't enjoy a solid friendship with a man."

"I can think of one."

Isobel's eyes gleamed like amber as she grinned at Violet. "What? Are you afraid he'll take one look at you, fall madly in love, and ravish you?"

"Don't be vulgar," Violet barked, although the blush had returned full force. "At my age, I'm not at all sure that's even a possibility."

"Which one? The falling in love or the ravishing part?"

The back of her neck red as well by this point, Violet shook her head at Isobel. "You say you're overjoyed that I'm alive, but you have a funny way of showing it. I swear you're trying to scandalize me straight into my grave."

"Oh, Violet; save the theatrics for the Old Vic. You've witnessed plenty of scandal over the years and you're still the picture of health. Lord, you've even committed a little bit of scandal yourself, and you're still here."

"Don't let's go there."

Still smiling, Isobel wrapped an arm around her cousin's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "You're out of excuses, you know. Just saying _I don't want to go _isn't going to work. Dr. Clarkson ordered you to have an adventure, and this is an adventure if there ever was one. Don't you ever feel like you're missing something? Like you're being called somewhere you've never been?"

"If I were ever called to America, it would be a wrong number," Violet quipped, though uncertainty had crept into her voice. The truth was, she hadn't had an urge to go somewhere unknown since her younger years, and that old thirst for adventure was what had gotten her in trouble decades ago. "I've had enough adventures to fill a book in the last 15 years, Isobel. I really don't think I need something new. Everyone I love is here, at Downton. Why would I want to leave that?"

"Because you're afraid of what might happen if you go into the unknown. That's what America is to you – an unknown world where anything could take place. It's true that things unknown can be frightening sometimes, but on the other hand, they can end up as the most marvelous surprises. This is going to be the latter, but only if you're willing to pick the lock on that mind of yours and see the New World for what it can be, not what you think it is. If I'm wrong, I'll announce it for all of England to hear, and you will have an enormous _I told you so _to lord over me for the rest of your life."

Violet's expression was sardonic. "And if I'm wrong? That's a very big _if, _mind you."

Isobel squeezed Violet again. "I'll be the one with lifetime bragging rights."

At long last, Violet smiled. "All right, you have a deal," she conceded, shaking hands with Isobel. "But don't expect me to enjoy myself. I'll reserve judgment for when I get there."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." The cousins rose from the couch and, arms on each other's shoulders, walked to the library door. Isobel chuckled. "Isn't this the third fight we've had that's been defused by a few good jests?"

"In as many days."

"I think we've broken our record."

"Oh, goody. Let's alert the papers." Once they reached the door, Violet didn't open it. Rather, she knocked on its sturdy wood and called out, "You can stop listening; we're coming out now."

The door flung wide, revealing a flabbergasted Robert, Mary, and Edith standing in the corridor. "How did you know we were out here?"

"Robert, do give me some credit," Violet admonished her son. "You and Rosamund never could keep quiet while spying on your father and me, and nothing has changed after forty years. Take some advice from a _real _old hand: being quiet as a mouse doesn't mean you get to squeak like one." Isobel giggled and Violet could not keep a satisfied smile off her face as Edith hissed an _I told you _at Mary, while the cousins departed to finalize their holiday plans.


	5. Into the Unknown

Well, to America we go! Violet, Isobel, and Dickie have made the journey safely and are now on the train to their final destination, which is finally revealed in this chapter. We're also treated to a little glimpse into Violet's past and a hint at why she is the way she is.

I make reference to four Washington, D.C. locations in this chapter. Three I mention by name, one I do not. Can you guess what the unnamed location is?

* * *

_Mid-June, 1927_

_On the train from New York to Virginia_

"Which state are we crossing through this time, Dickie?"

"Maryland, I think. We ought to be coming up on Washington anytime soon."

Grinning excitedly, Isobel turned to Violet, who was sitting across the compartment and had her nose buried in a book. "Did you hear that, Violet? You may want to put your book down and look out the window. We're coming up on the capital of the United States."

Violet gave Isobel a face that clearly said _in your dreams. _"The city that pays tribute to this country's treason? I'd rather read, thank you."

Isobel just let it roll off her back. Violet had been making comments like that ever since they docked in New York City, determined to follow through on her promise to not enjoy herself. It was a ripe opportunity to tease her, and Isobel seized it. "Still sore about going through immigration at Ellis Island, are we?"

Again, Violet scowled at her over the book. "While I understand the need to keep illnesses out of a nation and check for contraband items, I think it's absolutely impertinent to paw through a lady's belongings. One would think I were smuggling dynamite through customs."

"Perhaps they got wind you were coming, heard of your sentiments toward America, and thought you were planning to blow up the White House," Dickie said drily, with a perfectly straight face and a twinkle in his eye.

"Do shut up, Dickie," Violet snarked back, while Isobel roared with laughter. "And you," she added, kicking her cousin's foot.

Isobel flicked away mirthful tears. "Violet, lighten up! It's hardly Dickie's fault you had enough luggage to sink a ship."

"It's a miracle ours didn't sink," Dickie deadpanned, not even glancing up from his newspaper. "A herd of elephants doesn't have that many trunks."

Violet rolled her eyes. "Oh, very clever." A few minutes passed before she spoke again. "Not that I'm interested, of course, but where does our host live in Virginia?"

"Williamsburg," Dickie answered. "Absolutely lovely place. It was once the capital of Virginia, you know."

"No, I don't know. Being well-versed in American history has never been a top priority for me," Violet said. "But since we don't really have anything more stimulating to talk about, you might as well tell me the story."

With a smile, Dickie set his paper aside and began his tale. "Before the Revolution, Williamsburg was the place where Virginia's governing body met, where commerce thrived; a bustling capital, by all accounts. However, when the last year of the Revolution was upon the Virginians, they realized they had to do something about its vulnerability to, ah…" He smiled again. "Us."

Now Violet put her book down. "Really?" she asked, pulling her glasses off. "We had that much of a say in shifting Virginia's capital city?"

"Not directly, as it were. You see, Williamsburg straddles two rivers: the James and the York. Both of these rivers empty into the Chesapeake Bay, which in turn flows into the Atlantic."

"How did you learn all of this?"

Dickie shrugged. "Keeping up a transatlantic friendship with an American has its advantages. Jonathan has told me as much about his corner of the world as I've told him of mine." When Violet nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, he continued. "Anyway, back to the move. Thomas Jefferson was governor of Virginia at the time and knew that Williamsburg's proximity to the ocean made it vulnerable to a sea attack by the British army, so they decided to move the capital further inland, to Richmond."

"I take it that our side lost interest after that?"

"Yes, but the move did cause a lot of people to forget about Williamsburg for a while, save for those who attended the College of William and Mary. As much history is entrenched in this part of the country, one would think the American people would be more interested in preserving such tradition."

Violet huffed at that. "That will be the day, when any American cares about tradition."

Isobel flicked her a rather sly grin. "If you want to see just how much the Americans care about tradition, look out the window. Welcome to Washington."

Violet turned and felt her eyes widen at what she saw. In the distance rose a massive white dome, positively Roman in its structure, with what appeared to be some kind of statue – also Roman or Greek, she was willing to bet – perched atop it. The rest of the building also hearkened back to ancient Rome, with its gleaming white pillars and the stairs that, as far as Violet could tell, where made of marble. "That building there, what is it?"

"The one with the dome?" When Violet nodded, Isobel replied, "That's the Capitol Building. It's America's equivalent to the Houses of Parliament; it's where Congress meets. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I hate to admit it, but it is," Violet said, casting an admiring eye on the temple-like building again. "It looks almost like St. Paul's."

Dickie smiled. "Funny you should say that; its construction was actually inspired by St. Paul's. It's not the only similarity that America shares with England. They have a two-house legislature like we do. We have the House of Lords and the House of Commons; they have the Senate and the House of Representatives."

"They don't have a monarchy, though."

"For obvious reasons," Dickie chuckled. "Their government is modeled after the ancient democracies of Athens and the Republic of Rome… with some elements borrowed from us."

"You're kidding! Even after breaking with us, they still kept some form of English government? What?"

"Their judicial system. Their courts are very much like ours, except that their Supreme Court is the ultimate interpreter of their Constitution, and our Prime Minister can't have even a short interpretation of our law without His Majesty's final word. The way their government is set up, it actually prevents all sides from holding too much power. Quite a clever system, really," Dickie said.

Isobel nudged Violet's foot. "Rooted in the tradition of ancient cultures. And speaking of, did you see what's nearby?"

Violet followed Isobel's finger to a towering white obelisk near the Capitol Building. "First Greece, then Rome, now Egypt. Robert would have a field day if he saw this."

"Ah, the Washington Monument," Dickie observed. "Built to honor General George Washington, the first President of the United States."

"You see? We have monuments to Queen Victoria and Lord Nelson, and they honor the leaders of their past as well," Isobel said.

"Hmm." Violet watched as the monument vanished behind them. "Do they have any other tributes to the past here?"

Dickie nodded. "Indeed they do. They have a memorial dedicated to Abraham Lincoln."

"Horrid, what happened to him." When Isobel raised an eyebrow in surprise, Violet glared in return. "Don't look at me like that. I may dislike America, but killing anyone for eliminating slavery is reprehensible. I'm not completely heartless, you know."

Isobel merely smiled. "Admiring American architecture and feeling compassion for a fallen President? There's hope for you yet."

"Don't get excited." Violet turned back to the window and watched the rest of the city go by. It was quite lovely, she had to admit; full of old-fashioned architecture that blazed like beacons among the modern buildings. _Very much like London, _she thought. New York City, what little she had seen of it, had not impressed her – there were so many people, it made London look like a ghost town. That newfangled Art Deco look was everywhere, from the clothing to the buildings. Oh yes, she'd seen a place or two like that in London, but it didn't overrun the city like ivy. It was a pleasant surprise to see that at least one city in America paid honor to the nation's heritage – treasonous though it was.

Dickie was now saying something about some spectacular museum in Washington, one that housed fossils, jewels, shells and treasure from the ocean, and all sorts of incredible things – even its own zoo. That piqued Violet's attention. _Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice. Another similarity between us and the Americans. _The British Museum and the London Zoo were sights to behold, but from what Dickie was saying, this museum was massive and still growing. One thing she loved doing on her visits to London (which, admittedly, were not very often) was visiting museums and art galleries. History had always fascinated her, and seeing it up close was always a thrill. Not that she would ever have let her family cotton to the Dowager Countess of Grantham's interest in dusty old antiques. _Takes one to know one, _she could almost hear Isobel teasing her, had she voiced that last thought aloud.

Contrary to popular belief, Violet was not thin-skinned. She didn't mind a little teasing, as long as it didn't cut to the bone – and that a friend did it. What she couldn't abide were condescending, smart remarks about her age. People seemed to have the idea that since she was over eighty, she needed to act accordingly – which included taking all of the jabs about no longer being in the bloom of youth. In other words, they expected a frail old lady who didn't even know what day of the week it was, sweet and passive.

_Ha. _Violet was proud to flout every last one of those expectations. She may have used a cane, but it was mainly to keep up appearances. Appearances, after all, were not often what they seemed, and that ancient adage applied to her cane in more than one sense. Violet was perfectly capable of walking without it and could still move rather fast. Dr. Clarkson had called her sprightly, after all. Her mind was as sharp as a razor, as was her tongue; rare was the occasion when she was at a loss for words. Many a time had her quick wit slapped down an arrogant upstart who truly deserved it – for heaven's sake, if one was a member of the English aristocracy, a keen mind and sharp wit were must-haves; otherwise, one didn't stand a chance. It was akin to swimming in shark-infested waters. If you weren't as toffee-nosed and tart-tongued as everyone else, you were eaten alive. Something her son and daughter-in-law had successfully managed to transcend, she'd noticed. It certainly explained why Robert and Cora both had reputations as darlings in society, and she had one as a – well, as a word that rhymed with _itch._

Perhaps things had changed, in the peerage as much as in all other areas of life. Maybe one no longer needed to maintain arrogance to survive an aristocratic existence. Mary seemed to have learned that lesson the hard way, and Edith had borne it gracefully for years now. Sybil, God rest her soul, had known it since birth. So why couldn't Violet adapt as easily? _Because you're too old to change. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, a leopard doesn't change its spots, any of the old clichés that apply._

It wasn't the clichés that stopped her, though. True, Violet wasn't one for major changes, but she knew how to roll with some punches. Her reasons for keeping that reputation and that hold-tight-to-the-past mentality ran far deeper than anyone could have ever guessed… all the way back to Russia, in fact. Russia and back to England, to years she still ached to make up to her husband.

Not for the first time, her heart wrenched with guilt at the memories that flooded back. Violet had been young and strong-willed even then, with a crown of red hair and a spirit to match – one that thirsted for more adventure than she was getting in England. She thought when she'd become a countess, that was going to be an adventure. After all, the Earl of Grantham was a great catch, and Egyptology was a hobby of his. Surely, that meant camel rides through burning deserts, the Great Pyramids, and tombs filled with indescribable treasures.

She'd been in for disappointment. Patrick Crawley was a man who loved Egypt, certainly, but his first duty had been to Downton. At least, that's what his mother said, the tyrannical old battle-axe, all while glaring down through her nose at Violet – as if her daughter-in-law had one eye and a hump. Catherine Crawley had possessed a gift for treating everyone beneath her rank like scum; by courtesy, that extended to Violet, since she was the daughter of a mere baronet (the horror!). The old witch's constant belittling, plus Patrick's initial reluctance to stand up to her, had made Violet mad for an escape – any escape, no matter the cost.

That cost had very nearly been her marriage and her children. What it did cost her, though, was a part of her personality. After that, she'd vowed never to let anyone intimidate or bully her again. If anyone was going to do the intimidating, it was going to be her. And her sense of adventure? She left that behind in Russia. Venturing into the unknown was a terrifying thing now, because Violet was afraid of risking her heart again. _No changes. No adventure. Certainly no romance, although Isobel did promise not to make a match between Mr. Holden and myself…_

Violet sighed as she continued to gaze out the window. The countryside was quite pretty, to be honest, the houses neatly built and attractive. _All right, so they don't live in wigwams, _she grudgingly admitted. _And it looks like they have prospered, even without our help. But why shout about it so much, when it's just another country? What's so special about America, anyway?_


	6. Get This Right

Surprise! My apologies for the long wait, but I'm making up for it with two chapters! In this new entry, we switch POVs to that of our long-awaited hero, Jonathan Holden, and we get s glimpse into what his life in Virginia is like.

To my loyal readers who have reviewed, and new readers such as Rosa Clearwater, thank you so much! My special thanks goes out to my faithful guest reviewer, who correctly guessed that the unnamed fourth DC landmark was the Smithsonian Institute! Who knows, a trip there may be in order for Violet...

Now for a new challenge. Can you guess who I had in mind when I wrote Jonathan's character? I'll give you a few hints: he's a older actor, he's been in several films and shows, and he had his own series in the late 70s-early 80s.

* * *

_The same day; Williamsburg, Virginia_

"Okay, we have three here. What do you think of this one?"

"Granddad, my eyes hurt looking at that thing. It's gonna give people headaches, it's so loud."

Jonathan Holden barked a laugh, turning from the spray of flowers to gaze fondly at the twelve-year-old imp standing before him. "I hope you don't say anything like that about our guests when they get here. Where'd you get that mouth of yours, anyway?"

Said mouth curved upward in a mischievous grin, the same mischief dancing in her teal-blue eyes. "From you."

Jonathan gently knuckled his granddaughter's head and returned his attention to the floral arrangement. It was a little loud, now that he had a second look at it: vibrant pink stargazer lilies and flaming orange hibiscus, with birds of paradise here and there. It was perfect to welcome tropical visitors from the Caribbean; not so perfect for nobility from England. From what Dickie had told him, Isobel's friend was a little leery about Americans being loud; there was no need to "say it with flowers," so to speak. Not to mention too many lilies were enough to make an army sneeze. "All right, this one is out. What about this one?" Jonathan gestured at the vase crammed with red, hot pink, and pale pink roses and greenery.

Laurie Holden wrinkled her nose and shook her head, her chin-length mahogany bob flying about her ears. "No way. It's pretty, but it looks kinda romantic. That'll make Aunt Isobel's friend think you're trying to court her."

Jonathan winced. Definitely not the impression he was going for. "No, then. This is the only one left," he said, waving a hand at the final vase.

Thank God, Laurie's face lit up and she clapped her hands. "Perfect!"

Jonathan grinned. He'd been hoping Laurie would choose this one: creamy white roses and carnations surrounded with purple alstroemeria and stock, eucalyptus, and baby's breath. It was lush and fragrant without being overwhelming. "Thank the Lord, because if you didn't like this, you'd be making the next one."

"Granddad!" Laurie giggled. "I can't make flowers as pretty as you."

"Hey, you've been practicing. You'll get there one day, until you can arrange flowers as well as you can hit a baseball." This was said not with criticism, but kindness and pride.

Laurie knew this well. Her grandfather had taught her to play baseball almost as soon as she could toddle – and defend herself, but that was another story. "You think Aunt Isobel's friend might like baseball?"

Jonathan chuckled. "I don't know, pumpkin. From what Aunt Isobel and Uncle Dickie have told me, she's a little wary of coming to a new world. Think about it. It must be like going to the moon for her, so we've really got to give her a good welcome."

Laurie's smile became wicked. "Good thing you're not using that thing," she said, pointing at the tropical arrangement. "Scaring someone is a heck of a way to welcome them."

"You little rascal!" Jonathan seized his granddaughter in a bear hug and swung her around, blowing a raspberry on her cheek. He set her back down and smiled down at her cheery face. "What would I do without you to make me laugh?"

"Go nuts." Laurie hugged her grandfather again. "I love you, Granddad."

"I love you too, Laurie." Jonathan kissed her cheek. "Now go get freshened up. Uncle Dickie and Aunt Isobel will be here with their friend soon."

"Nice or dressy?"

"Nice. Aunt Isobel's friend is a countess, not the queen, so dress nicely. You don't have to get too fancy."

"Just don't wear these, right?"

Jonathan chuckled at the very thought. Laurie was wearing a pale blue blouse, but with a pair of gray pants – her "outside clothes," as she referred to them. "A young lady wearing pants in front of British nobility? Talk about scaring someone. And you thought my flowers were bad!" he teased.

"I'll be good!" Laurie was laughing.

"I know you will. Get out of here." Still snickering as Laurie ran off, Jonathan picked up the chosen floral arrangement and walked out of his workshop in the conservatory, down the path back to the house. Even though he still completed many an arrangement for his local shop, it was always gratifying to know he hadn't lost his touch. Who would have thought a chemist, a gunpowder miller by trade, would have branched out into a florist's occupation? _Probably the same person who thought a man who manufactured gunpowder could never make perfume, _he thought.

For Jonathan, it wasn't that complex a puzzle. Horticulture and botany were every bit as credible as chemistry; every plant had its own unique structure, cells, reproduction, and use. Just as potassium nitrate was the key ingredient in gunpowder, foxglove formed the basis of both a powerful medicine and a lethal poison: digitalis. Roses bore nasty thorns, yet their delicate petals could be used for either fragrant perfume or cooling rosewater. Every plant had a purpose, which never failed to remind Jonathan that things happened for a reason. As far as he knew, this visit was just that, a visit, but who knew what the Lord had in mind sometimes. Especially with Isobel bringing a friend along for the ride, but then, he'd gotten no inclination that this was a romantic setup. _Good. _He'd had enough trouble for a lifetime; thank God he'd been able to get himself and Laurie out of it. They'd had a year of hell and three years of peace so far, and Jonathan didn't want anything wrecking that peace – more for Laurie's sake than his own.

Jonathan entered the house, and was immediately greeted by a Southern drawl tinged with humor. "Good night, Mr. Holden, you look like you're heading for the Kentucky Derby. You got a winning horse to crown?"

Jonathan peered over the abundant flora to grin at his housekeeper, whose face was dimpled in a smile. "No such luck, Annie Jo. I do have a countess to impress, though."

"If she's not impressed with these, she's nuts. There's no finer flowers in Virginia, if you ask me."

"You wouldn't say that if you saw the tropical arrangement Laurie shot down. It had pink stargazer lilies, orange hibiscus, and birds of paradise."

Annie Jo McEntire snickered, her deep brown eyes betraying even greater mirth. "You're right. I'd be asking if you'd gone colorblind."

Jonathan laughed. He'd known Annie Jo for too long to think she was criticizing for real. "How does your husband put up with you?"

"Like you don't know," Annie Jo teased. "You and James are worse than a couple of old women when you're in that greenhouse together, and you'll be even worse when Dickie Grey gets here. Thank God I'll have Isobel to commiserate with." She brushed a stray auburn curl out of her face. "You ought to get married again, Mr. Holden. We need another lady around here. Lord knows I need a friend to gossip with, so I'm on a more even footing with James."

"Annie Jo." Jonathan's smile grew slightly bittersweet as he set the flowers down on the hall table. "You know that's not even an option anymore."

Annie Jo's expression soured. "If anyone hurt James or either of my boys like she hurt you and Laurie, I'd be taking them to the woodshed. Even after three years, it still sticks in my craw."

"I appreciate the loyalty, but it's not worth getting riled up over. She's gone, and that's all that matters."

"Not gone enough. I swear she left demons in this house sometimes."

"Let's not let her ruin today. We've got friends coming, and this place needs to shine." Jonathan looked around the open entrance hall. "Which you've already outdone yourself on, I see." The gunstock floor had been polished until it gleamed, and the Tiffany chandelier was sparkling with emerald-green and tourmaline lily pads against an ultramarine backdrop – tribute to what was currently growing in his garden. As he watched, sunlight pouring in through the windows struck the chandelier, sending shards of blue light dancing around the room.

Annie Jo beamed. "I know Dickie and Isobel don't care one way or another how the house looks, but I'll be darned if the place looks like the wreck of the _Hesperus _when a countess comes to call."

Jonathan chuckled. "You're a gem, Annie Jo. Are you leaving until later?"

"I am. You're cooking dinner tonight, right?"

"Don't I always? Unless you'd rather stun our guests with your culinary prowess."

"With all due respect, Mr. Holden, bite your tongue," Annie Jo retorted with an eye roll. "My cooking hasn't killed James or my sons yet, but I'm not taking my chances with British nobility. One bite of my food and they'd tell everyone back in England the Americans are still trying to kill them." She slipped on her summer coat and waved goodbye. "I'll see you later, Mr. Holden. Good luck with the welcoming committee."

"Bye." A quick glance at the clock told Jonathan he had at least two hours before his visitors arrived; more than enough time to get himself ready. A quick shower and a shave later, he was standing before the mirror in his bedroom, helping himself into his suit for the evening. Like he had told Laurie, there was no need to "get gussied up," as his mother would have said. Societal norms had shifted from wearing a full-blown tuxedo at dinner to just a decent, semi-formal suit, a change he had welcomed with open arms. Though he had done the white-tie thing for years, doing so had made him feel as though he was attending a nightly funeral. It was a relief to wear something more comfortable. Tonight, he chose to wear a navy blue suit and matching tie, with a powder-blue shirt and silver cufflinks – nothing too fancy, but nice enough to make a good impression. As a businessman, he understood the value of first impressions. They frequently set the tone for a mindset and a relationship; however, they could sometimes be misleading. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. Still, there was no reason at all to look like a bum in front of his guests. Everyone he did business with knew that what they saw was what they got, and he ensured the same for his personal relationships. It wasn't hard at all to be a decent person, and Jonathan often marveled at the sheer number of people who seemed to think the effort would kill them.

His tie now wrangled into a bow, Jonathan slid his jacket on and gave himself a final check in the mirror. Tall and broad-shouldered, he gave thanks every day that he was in good shape for his age – how many 85-year-olds could lay claim to that? His blue-green eyes were still bright, his silver hair was neatly combed, and thank God, he still had all his faculties. _Dickie said the countess is leery of Americans. Here's hoping this proves we're not a bunch of savages. Now, for dinner. Nothing says welcome like a good old-fashioned Southern supper, that's what Mama always said. And I've got the perfect welcome in mind_, Jonathan thought, smiling as he trooped downstairs to prepare his menu.


	7. First Impressions

In this chapter, our guests from England finally arrive, and Violet is a little startled to find that their host is not quite what she expected. For that matter, nor is Violet what Jonathan expected either...

* * *

_One hour later_

All right, things weren't looking too bad… yet. The farther south they had gone, the prettier the countryside had become, with lush green fields and dense forests – _not unlike Yorkshire, _Violet thought. Now, they were traveling by car to their host's estate, riding alongside a splendid river. "What did you say the name of this river is?"

"The James River. I'd like to say it was named after me, but I'd be a liar." James McEntire, their driver and, as he had introduced himself, one of Jonathan Holden's employees, laughed. "The Brits who first settled this neck of the woods named it after King James I. As a matter of fact, this year is the 320th anniversary of that settlement."

Violet did the backwards math. "So that was 1607? Dear God, it's been that long?"

"You make it sound as though you were there, and you don't want to reveal your age," Isobel teased.

"Shut up, Isobel," Violet hissed, elbowing her in the ribs while Dickie and James chortled in the front seat. "Forgive my cousin, Mr. McEntire. Marrying into the peerage has unfortunately done nothing to correct her lack of tact."

"Don't worry about it, Lady Grantham," James said; though his face was to the road, Violet could tell he was smiling. "Twenty years of marriage has taught me when someone's joking and when they're not, and when you're married to someone like my wife, you get a good feel for it." The fondness in his voice indicated a happy marriage, which brought a smile to Violet's face.

"Speaking of which, how is Annie Jo?" Dickie asked. "Is she still practicing to be the first lady comic?"

Violet's eyes flew wide. "Dickie, isn't Mrs. McEntire the housekeeper for the estate? And you call her by her Christian name?"

Dickie turned his head to Violet with a smile. "Not everywhere in America still requires the use of a surname to address a servant, or an employee."

"Especially here," James laughed. "This is the South, Lady Grantham. The only ones here who use last names are kids, and they're always talkin' to their elders unless they're told they can use a first name."

Isobel nudged Violet. "Does this mean you're going to start calling Denker Gladys while we're here?"

Violet looked as though Isobel had asked her to jump off a bridge. "You must be joking. Denker would have a heart attack if I addressed her by her Christian name." She popped Dickie on his shoulder. "And don't you start calling Spratt by his, either. The only reason he's here is because your valet was too ill to make the trip across the ocean."

"He volunteered his services; I couldn't refuse that generous an offer."

Violet scoffed. "Generous nothing. Spratt didn't want to miss the holiday."

Isobel giggled. "I wonder how he and Denker have survived the ride over here. They had separate quarters on the ship and separate compartments on the train, but now they've been forced to share a car. I honestly feel sorry for Williams; she has to play referee."

"Y'all make those two sound like boxers. Are they really that bad together?" James asked.

Violet's grin was wry. "Do you have bears in this area, Mr. McEntire?"

"Not around here, but we do have black bears up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, a few hours away from here. Why?"

"Let me put it this way. Denker and Spratt would make those animals look like teddy bears by comparison."

"Fights notwithstanding, I am glad that Spratt was able to come," Dickie said. "And doubly grateful we were able to give him Burke's ticket."

"Well, that one wasn't in Burke's name, so it was easier. I would have thought Spratt would have relished the idea of three months without Denker, though," Isobel said.

"Are you kidding?" Violet asked. "He would have been bored to sobs after two days. Those two live to irritate each other, not to mention Spratt wants Denker to have something he doesn't over his dead body. He knows his mere presence here will spoil Denker's fun. Sorry to spoil yours, Dickie, but that's the truth of it. Spratt is here for personal gain, not goodwill."

Dickie waved a hand. "I'm just glad to have him. I don't care if he's here to throw Denker into the river."

"Don't give him ideas," Violet said. "Though, to be honest, he'll probably be too busy caring for you and shouting down the telephone to Edith to give it a second thought."

"It was awfully good of Edith to let him work by telephone," Isobel commented. "That way, he won't disappoint his readers."

"Oh, Mr. Spratt's a writer? What does he write?" James asked. "Mysteries?"

To everyone's surprise, Violet's expression was that of a child bursting with a juicy secret – which, in a sense, she was. "No, Mr. McEntire, but what he writes is in and of itself a mystery. If you wish to know, I suggest you ask him."

"Hmm. Will do."

Although James, Dickie, and Isobel kept up steady chatter for the rest of the ride, Violet occupied herself by looking out the window, watching the James River flow. The sight it provided was absolutely entrancing, reflecting the deep blue of the sky and sunlight scattering sparkling diamonds across its surface. _If the river is this lovely, the bay it flows into must be spectacular. What did Dickie say it was called? The Chesapeake? Some Indian name. I'll say this for America, the land is beautiful. No wonder our people settled here…_

Isobel's excited voice broke into her thoughts. "We're here!"

_At last! _Violet's attention was riveted on the road as James turned onto a smooth gravel drive, cruising past immaculately manicured topiaries. At the end of the drive lay a three-story, red-brick manor, and Violet's heart gave a leap as she recognized the Georgian architecture. _How extraordinary! That house has to date back to the 1770s; if not, it's a very clever imitation. Our host has taste, I'll give him that._

The car drew to a stop outside the house, where an older gentleman and a young girl were waiting. Violet barely got a good look at either of them before James was opening her door and offering a hand. "Thank you, Mr. McEntire," she said, leaning on his arm to step out of the car. _The first American with manners I've met – no, second. Cora, then him._

James's hazel eyes twinkled. "My pleasure, Lady Grantham," he said, inclining his head in respect. Violet smiled at him and turned to make her way around the car when a loud cry of "Uncle Dickie!" rang out. She quickly rounded the vehicle to see Dickie embracing the girl, who had clearly launched herself into his arms. Isobel was likewise hugging the man, exclaiming how good it was to see him again. _Good heavens, am I next? _she wondered, observing the emotional display.

Right on cue, the man saw her and released Isobel… and Violet felt her heart do a flip like she hadn't experienced in years. Of all the mental pictures she'd formed of Jonathan Holden, none of them came close to the real thing. She'd been expecting someone like Anthony Strallan, but older: weedy and slightly bemused. Wrong. This man was tall and well-built; he obviously hadn't let advancing age stop him from staying in shape. His hair was the purest silver, his complexion ruddy and healthy, and his eyes… Violet had never seen such eyes. They were a brilliant teal blue, the color of the Mediterranean Sea on a cloudless day. Moreover, they were alight with a spirit that belied his years, which only made him that much more attractive.

_Marvelous. Just what I don't need._

"Jonathan," Isobel said as Violet approached, "I'd like you to meet my cousin, Violet Crawley. The Dowager Countess of Grantham, if you'd rather use the title."

"The title would be much appreciated," Violet cut in smoothly. No matter the customs here, she still didn't feel comfortable with a perfect stranger calling her by her Christian name.

Jonathan didn't seem ruffled by this, though. A smile split his face – a lovely smile, Violet thought, cursing her traitorous heart – and he extended a hand in greeting. "Lady Grantham," he said, in a warm, rich voice, "Welcome to Holden Park; I'm Jonathan Holden. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Dickie and Isobel have told me so much about you."

"Oh?" Violet cut her eyes sideways at her cousin, who bore a Cheshire Cat grin, sod her. "And have they been extolling my virtues or my vices?"

"Good things, although I understand America makes you a little uneasy."

Well, that was blunt. Violet wouldn't have expected any less from an American, although he wasn't obnoxious about it. "Wouldn't you be, coming to a nation that slaughtered your people?" The words were out before she could stop them. Dickie gasped and Isobel palmed her forehead, muttering "Here we go."

Jonathan's smile stiffened. "Not particularly. As I understand it, your royal family has some German blood. Does that make _you _uneasy, being ruled by relatives of the country that killed your people in the Great War?"

_Ouch. _That was a good comeback; even Violet knew that, though she'd be hanged if she would ever admit it. "Certainly not! They happen to be excellent monarchs."

"And this happens to be an excellent nation. Perhaps you'll realize that during your stay here." Jonathan's smile relaxed, although there was no mistaking the wicked gleam in his eyes. "And your timing's perfect. Independence Day is coming up in a couple of weeks. Good to know you'll be here to celebrate with us."

Violet was positive she looked like she'd been slapped. How could she have forgotten about the Fourth of July? God Almighty, witnessing these people celebrate nearly two centuries of treason was going to be pure torture. She was on the verge of saying she would rather swim with sharks when Jonathan spoke again.

"On that note, I'd like you to meet my granddaughter, Laurie. Laurie, this is Lady Grantham."

The girl approached and held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Lady Grantham," she said, with a smile that mirrored her grandfather's.

A smile Violet found herself returning as she took stock of the child. She was a pretty young lady, with glossy brown hair and her grandfather's blue-green eyes – eyes that, for some reason, seemed older than her years. _Polite, well-spoken, well-dressed. I don't think much of Mr. Holden's attitude, but he seems to have done an admirable job with this girl. _"The pleasure is all mine, my dear," she said, shaking Laurie's hand.

"Granddad said this is your first time in America. You don't have to be scared, you know. We're not gonna bite you," Laurie said, as innocently as you please.]

"Laurie!" Jonathan exclaimed, though he appeared to be holding back mirth. No such luck with either Dickie or Isobel; they were both doubled over laughing. Laurie was frowning in puzzlement, as if to say "What's so funny?"

Amazingly enough, Violet wasn't offended by Laurie's bluntness. The child clearly hadn't meant any harm by it, unlike her grandfather's remarks. No, the forthrightness reminded Violet of Sybil, who had been just this precocious at the same age. _You really do have a sense of humor, don't You? _she thought, her eyes flicking to heaven before refocusing on Laurie. "It's quite all right, dear girl. As long as you won't bite, I won't either. My bark is a lot worse, for some people," she said, shooting Jonathan a look. Seeing the smirk he fired back at her, she added, "And I'm not afraid."

Laurie's smile returned. "Great! We're gonna have so much fun while you're here."

"We'll see. Some don't think I know the meaning of the word."

At that moment, another car pulled up and rolled to a stop, and Carol Williams, Isobel's maid, all but leapt out, a frazzled expression on her normally placid face. "Lady Merton, I've never been happier to see you in my life," she said to Isobel, trotting over to her mistress.

Isobel's smile was sympathetic. "Not the most pleasant car ride, I gather?"

"The way those two carried on, it was like bein' in a mobile zoo!" Upon spotting Violet, Williams dropped a curtsy. "Apologies, Lady Grantham," she said, in a voice that was less than apologetic, "but it's the truth."

"No need to tell me that, Williams; I'm already well aware," Violet demurred. "I'm the zookeeper, remember?" To her right, Jonathan snickered, and Violet grinned in spite of herself. _At least he knows what's funny._

Speaking of funny, the car door opened and Denker landed on her behind on the gravel drive, while Spratt descended from the vehicle as smooth as glass. The maid glared up into the butler's smiling face. "You stupid lummox, you pushed me!"

"I did no such thing. Don't start blaming me for your own clumsiness." Spratt smirked at her. "And for God's sake, get up. You're in the presence of a countess, a baron and baroness, and a gentleman, and here you are with your bum in the gravel."

Her face burning red, Denker shot to her feet. "The only bum here is _you, _you –"

"Better late than never, I suppose," Violet interrupted, before the two could exchange gunfire. "How kind of you to provide us with such quality entertainment." Again, Jonathan chuckled, which made her feel a little better about the whole thing. He apparently found it funny and not pathetic; she had to give him some credit for that.

"I apologize for our tardiness, Your Ladyship," Spratt spoke up, completely unperturbed by his mistress's snarky reprimand. "Miss Denker received a call from nature, so we had to stop and let her take care of business."

"I see," Violet said, watching Denker's face turn an ugly shade of puce. "Though from the look on your face, Denker, one would assume you did not take care of it."

"With all due respect, milady," Denker said through clenched teeth, "I'm not the one who is full of –"

"That will do." Violet stared both of her staff members down. "I think you have both made quite a first impression on our host. See that you improve upon it while we are here, and I don't mean your circus act. Is that clear?"

Both Spratt and Denker had the grace to look ashamed. "Yes, milady," they murmured.

"Good. And an apology to Williams for assaulting her eardrums might also be in order." While the twosome apologized to Williams, Violet turned back to Jonathan. "My maid, Denker, and my butler, Spratt, who is standing in for Lord Merton's valet. You'll have to forgive their antics; sometimes they act like they were born on the wrong side of the ocean."

Jonathan's mouth flattened and his eyes narrowed, and Isobel pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "And which ocean would that be?" he asked evenly. "There are four to pick from, you know."

_Don't admit you were wrong. _"The Atlantic, of course. You must admit, Mr. Holden; your people haven't been civilized as long as the English have."

"You're forgetting that most of my people are descended from _your _people, including my great-great-grandfather, Colonel Martin Burwell of the Continental Army. He witnessed firsthand just how _civilized _your people could be, wondering, as his comrades were murdered by Redcoats, how the country he once called home could hate him so much." He looked over Violet, who suddenly felt self-conscious in her red summer outfit. "Right now, I have to wonder the same thing."

A hot flush swept over Violet and the urge to snap back surged through her, but her tongue seemed to be in knots. That retort had struck deeper than she thought possible; what was more, it had been a total surprise. She wasn't used to people coming back at her after she cut them down. If they did, the insults were so weak that they simply bounced off. Oh yes, Isobel knew how to fire back at her, but nothing with her ever cut to the bone. This, however, did. Jonathan Holden was clearly more intelligent than she had given him credit for, but it wasn't the intelligence that unnerved her. It was the feeling that those astonishing teal eyes could see right through her – and she had no clue what to say or think about that. For once in her life, Violet Crawley was speechless.

* * *

_Well, at least that shut her up, _Jonathan thought, motioning for everyone to join him in the house. _I hate saying stuff like that in front of Dickie and Isobel, but good night!_

"Chalk one victory up to the Americans."

Jonathan glared at Dickie, who had fallen into step beside him. "I ought to belt you one. She's not leery of America; she's a relic from 1776, right down to the red coat!"

Dickie chuckled. "I assure you, the red coat was pure coincidence. As for the attitude from 1776, no one will dispute that. I apologize for downplaying that over the telephone, but I didn't want –"

"Me to say 'leave her home?'"

"Precisely."

Jonathan sighed. "I'm not tickled about it, but I am glad you explained that. She sure does have a nasty case of anti-Americanism that needs curing." He glanced back at his friend. "By the way, if I offended either you or Isobel with what I said, I'm sorry. I promise, it wasn't meant to hurt you."

"No offense taken, old friend," Dickie said easily. "Unlike many of my countrymen, I'm not blind to my homeland's misdeeds where America is concerned."

Jonathan's eyes reverted to the front. He'd let Violet and Isobel walk ahead, so his gaze was on Violet's back. "Three months of this, huh?"

"Relax, Jonathan. Violet's bark is worse than her bite; she wasn't wrong about that. And she's really not as bad as you think. Just give her a chance."

"Yeah? What if she won't give me one?"

Dickie smiled. "If you're that worried about her, you know who to ask." He nodded at Laurie, who was walking hand-in-hand with Isobel. "She's a good judge of character for one so young."

_If only I'd seen it sooner. _"It may be too early to tell, Dickie. I'll wait until after dinner to ask her."

"Why not sit Laurie across from Violet at dinner? Give them the opportunity to talk."

Jonathan winced. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

Dickie stopped and faced his lifelong friend, all serious business now. "Jonathan, hear me now. Violet may let her mouth run away with her at times, and yes, she can be an unbearable snob. However, she would sooner swallow her tongue than harm a child, in any sense. She's not a monster, you know."

Jonathan's gaze focused on the ladies. Laurie was offering to show them to their rooms; Isobel said she would wait for Dickie, but Violet took her up on it, with a "How kind! Thank you, dear." Laurie slipped her hand into the countess's gloved one, a pleasant surprise indeed. Laurie had never taken Vivian's hand, not even when she and Jonathan had been courting, before they knew the truth. Moreover, Violet's smile was genuine as she looked down at Laurie and let her young guide lead her upstairs. Part of Jonathan wanted to go after them, to make sure Laurie would be all right, but that smile and their hands held kept him where he was. If Laurie trusted Violet, perhaps there really was more to the dowager countess than met the eye. _Either that, or she's a good actress. I'll wait and see before I pass judgment. Beauty can hide some dark secrets, after all. _Briefly, Jonathan wondered why in the world he'd considered Violet's beauty as he led Dickie and Isobel upstairs.


	8. Girl Talk

Last time, Violet had been left speechless by her American host, Jonathan Holden. However, she took a liking to his granddaughter, Laurie, who offered to show Violet to her room. This chapter begins with their conversation, segueing into a talk with Isobel, another appearance by Jonathan, and, of course, more of Denker and Spratt's antics.

Disney fans: there's a nod to _Frozen II _in here somewhere. Can you find it?

GraceBe: It's not James Garner I had in mind for Jonathan, although that is a good guess! The actor I pictured did have his own detective show, but he shared it with a woman - and a butler! Can you guess now?

To all my loyal readers, thank you so much for your continued support! You are angels, and I'm glad you're along for the ride!

* * *

"So, what do you think?"

Violet's eyes swept the room, liking everything they saw. The walls were painted a deep, serene blue, the furniture dark mahogany, the bedclothes a paler blue with tones of white. Clean and understatedly elegant, the room had a calming effect, which Violet gratefully welcomed. "It's perfect. It feels so peaceful in here."

Laurie smiled. "Blue is calming. At least, that's what Granddad says. He always plants plenty of blue flowers out in the gardens."

"Oh? How many gardens do you have?"

"A lot. Granddad's been working with plants for years, and before that, he made gunpowder."

The question _to shoot Redcoats? _sprang to mind, but Violet held her tongue. _Don't attack the child, she's not done anything to you._

_Neither has Jonathan, and you had to stir the pot anyway, _her conscience chided her. _What's the difference?_

_Sod off, _she mentally bit back. _He's an adult; she's a young girl. And she hasn't gotten shirty with me. I've done nothing wrong._

_Keep telling yourself that, love._

Ignoring the stab of guilt, Violet seized on Laurie's previous statement. "Gunpowder? Is that how he made his fortune?"

"Part of it." Laurie opened her mouth to say more, but closed it just as quickly. "I'd better let him tell you the whole story. He can tell it better than I can."

_I'm sure. _Violet nodded and ventured to the window, which looked out on a pineapple fountain and a spread of green grass, framed by lilacs and bushes filled with huge, ball-like ivory flowers. "Such a lovely view. What are the white flowers, Laurie? I haven't seen those before."

"Snowballs."

Violet laughed. "That's a perfect name for them."

"My grandma Helen loved them. They were her pride and joy, from what Granddad's told me."

"You never knew her?"

Laurie went quiet. "No, but I wish I did. She died before I was born. Cancer."

The word _cancer _jabbed at Violet, bringing back memories of her family's tears when they thought they would lose her forever, her own fear of losing her life, and the indescribable joy when she was deemed healthy and well. It was a bittersweet reminder that others were not as lucky as she had been. "I'm sorry," she said softly, unsure of what else to say. _You must miss her _seemed a little inappropriate, given that Laurie never knew her grandmother.

"It's okay." Laurie smiled. "I've got Granddad, and some really swell friends. And Uncle Dickie and Aunt Isobel."

"Why do you call them _uncle _and _aunt_?" Violet asked. "I'm just curious, of course."

"I know they're not really my aunt and uncle, but that's how we do things here in the South. Any good friend of our mama and daddy, or grandparents, gets called _aunt _or _uncle. _I probably ought to be calling them Lord and Lady Merton, but Uncle Dickie's never minded me calling him _uncle. _And Aunt Isobel gets a kick out of me calling her _aunt._" Laurie gave Violet an impish grin. "I guess in England, everyone's really formal all the time, huh?"

Violet had to chuckle at that. It never ceased to amaze her how the rest of the world seemed to think the English were nothing but a bunch of sticks in the mud. "Not all the time. Just because we believe in good manners and some of us bear titles, it doesn't mean we don't know how to have a little fun now and then. And for the record, I don't make my granddaughters call me Lady Grantham. I'm not that much of a…"

"Stuffed shirt?"

"Exactly."

Laurie laughed. "I can tell you're not. You're probably gonna have fun arguing with Granddad, though."

"Only if I can prove him wrong." Violet paused as a new thought occurred to her. Laurie had witnessed the sparring match between herself and Jonathan. She didn't seem angry or upset, yet Violet didn't want her to think she hated her grandfather. Which was true – she didn't hate Jonathan. Disliked his attitude, yes, but didn't hate him. "Laurie… you do realize I don't hate your grandfather, don't you? I mean, it's not him personally I dislike, it's…"

"His country?"

Violet found herself smiling again in spite of herself. _Oh yes, this is Sybil all over. _"You don't miss a trick, do you?"

"Not much," Laurie giggled. "Granddad says I have better senses than a bat."

"Hmm. I don't miss much; perhaps that's why I'm referred to as an old bat so often," Violet said drily, sending Laurie into laughter. _Infectious _was the only way to describe the child's laugh, and sure enough, Violet began chuckling herself.

"Oh, gosh," Laurie said, wiping away a few joyful tears. "That was funny. Don't worry about not liking America, though. Who knows, you might change your mind. This place can be pretty darn magical."

"Magical?" Violet asked skeptically. "How?"

"You'll see." Laurie's mischievous grin was back. "I'd better go help Granddad. Do you need anything before I go?"

_And the surprises keep coming. _"Laurie, you're not my maid. You don't have to get me anything," Violet said, amazed she was offering.

"I know," Laurie said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm just being nice. We've all got to help each other out now and then, don't we?"

Violet smiled. "Indeed, we do. Thank you for being so kind to me."

"No problem, Lady Grantham. Dinner's at six, by the way." Laurie gave her one last smile and skipped out of the room, leaving Violet to muse on her thoughts. Happy thoughts, they were, if she were to quote _Peter Pan. Perhaps this won't be so terrible after all, if she's here. What a delightful child. I admit, I've never been one to spend abundant time with children, but she makes me want to reconsider._

What was also amazing was how easily she'd been able to talk to Laurie – no sarcasm required. Well, nothing cutting, anyway. The child just had a personality made of pure sunshine; yet again, Violet couldn't help making connections to Sybil. Of course, she knew that Laurie was not Sybil, no one ever would be. However, Laurie was a sweet reminder that people like Sybil still existed in the world: kind, helpful, and bursting with life.

Speaking of which, this entire place seemed to be bursting with life – not only the people, but the land. The garden outside was beautiful, and Laurie had said there were even more – but how many? A lot, was all she had said. Just how big was Holden Park, anyway? Downton was plenty big, and that didn't include the size of the Abbey. She wouldn't have thought America could have half the estates that Britain possessed, yet this nation was turning out to be full of surprises. For instance, extraordinary sights, such as that gorgeous river. Great natural beauty, which was something Violet had not been expecting at all. She'd expected either a dreary urban sprawl like New York or a swamp, anything to confirm the image she'd formed of an underdeveloped hell. Instead, there was fertile ground, blue waters, and people who appeared to be doing quite well for themselves – present company included.

At the thought of Jonathan, Violet let out a groan and sank down on the bed – which turned out to be so soft, she lay down, relishing the chance to rest her back. Her mind, however, had no such reprieve. It was bad enough that this American had functioning brains and a quick wit, but why, in the name of all that was good and holy, did he have to be handsome? Dear Lord, those beautiful teal eyes were enough to turn any woman's head, not to mention the rest of him. Violet still knew how to admire male beauty when she saw it – for heaven's sake, Isobel had teased her ruthlessly about ogling James Kent when the lad first started at Downton – but this wasn't just admiration, it was _attraction. _To. An. American. _God, how humiliating, _she thought, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow.

"Hiding from America won't make it go away, you know."

Violet didn't even look up; she would know her cousin's voice anywhere. "Don't you ever knock?"

"The door was open." Footsteps came closer and the mattress depressed, telling Violet that Isobel was now sitting next to her. A hand rested on her shoulder and rubbed gently. "Cheer up! It's a beautiful day, and the adventure's just beginning. You can't hate your surroundings that much already."

"That's just it." Violet sat up and faced her friend. "I don't." She paused, waiting for the inevitable round of teasing and _I-told-you-sos._

It never came, although Isobel's smile spoke volumes. "The land's working its magic on you, isn't it?"

"Funny you should say that; Laurie said as much earlier. And she's right," Violet said, not as grudgingly as she'd hoped. "I was honestly expecting a backwater swamp, not something so… beautiful."

"When Katharine Lee Bates called it America the Beautiful, she wasn't exaggerating. Dickie and I saw quite a few sights on our honeymoon, but Virginia is honestly one of the most splendid parts of the United States. One glance at this area, and it's easy to see why our ancestors settled here."

"Maybe yours did, but mine didn't," Violet said, attempting to sound grouchy again.

Isobel wasn't fooled. "Your walls are cracking, Violet. I can tell you're already starting to fall in love with the land – and somebody else."

Violet's neck heated at the words. "Don't be absurd! I am not falling in love with that – that arrogant Yankee!"

"First of all, be careful using that word around here. Southerners don't take kindly to being called Yankees. Secondly, I was not referring to Jonathan. Trust me, he doesn't fancy you, either."

For some reason, that stung. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted by that." A pause. "Who were you talking about?"

"Laurie, of course, although it's a different kind of falling in love. You look like you're on your way to becoming two peas in a pod."

Violet smiled. "She is an enchanting child, isn't she?"

"A darling. Laurie is one of the liveliest children you'll ever meet, and it's almost impossible not to love her. And I know for a fact that you two will get along, because when we bumped into each other in the hall, Laurie whispered to me that she likes you."

"Far more than her grandfather does, apparently."

"Well, your comments about America being uncivilized aren't exactly endearing you to him. Perhaps you should try a different tack."

"Such as?"

"Such as being warm for a change," Isobel suggested, her brown eyes twinkling.

"I am always warm," Violet objected. "It's everyone else who compares me to the Snow Queen."

Isobel merely laughed and slipped an arm around her cousin's shoulders. "Don't be so afraid to let people in, Violet. You're quite a sweetheart when you want to be, you know."

"And if you shout that around, I'll kill you," Violet said, though there was no malice in the words. She groaned when Isobel gave her a squeeze. "You're making me go soft, you know."

"And you've made me stronger. It's like King Solomon said: 'Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.' I think we've made each other better."

"Isobel, don't get sentimental." Nevertheless, Violet smiled at her cousin. "Even so, what would I do without you?"

"You'll always have me." Isobel gave Violet one more hug and gently thumped her on the back. "We'd best get ready for supper. I imagine you'll want to have a bath."

"That would be heavenly, if Denker ever meanders up here. She's probably still downstairs squabbling with Spratt."

A thunk and a loud "OW!" from the corridor said otherwise, as did a cry of "Watch it, you gormless oaf!" A smooth male voice argued back, and Violet rolled her eyes. "I stand corrected. Denker is _upstairs _squabbling with Spratt."

Isobel chortled. "I'm getting out of the line of fire," she said, rising from the bed.

"Coward," Violet whispered to her as she left the room. Not a minute later, Denker and Spratt entered – Spratt lugging a trunk, Denker bearing two suitcases and a hatbox. "Thank you for letting me know to expect you," she said, causing both of them to cast their eyes downward. "Is this everything?"

"Not quite, milady," Spratt answered. "Mr. Holden is on his way with the other trunk."

"Not 'on his way,' here," Jonathan said as he strode in, carrying the trunk as if it weighed little more than a loaf of bread.

Violet shook her head, although she couldn't help admiring his strength. _He really is in fantastic shape for a man his age… pull yourself together, Violet! _"You could break your back carrying it like that, you know," she said as he set the trunk down.

"What, this little thing?" Jonathan gestured at the trunk. It was small for a piece of luggage, but it had quite a lot in it, Violet knew. "I've carried heavier, trust me. Still do, come to think of it."

Violet huffed. "Mr. Holden, if you're trying to impress me, it's not working."

Jonathan smirked. "No, Lady Grantham, if I wanted to impress you, I'd strip to the waist. In fact…" He slid his jacket off.

"No, don't!" Violet yelped, whipping around and covering her eyes. _He wouldn't dare! _Suddenly, she heard him bark a laugh and she turned, opening her eyes again. He was still fully clothed, thank God, and laughing as he pulled his jacket back on. To make matters worse, Denker and Spratt looked as though they wanted to laugh as well, which only made embarrassment flood through her. _He tricked me! _"You – how could you, you – you pervert!"

"Don't get your knickers in a knot." Jonathan grinned at her, buttoning his jacket. "I was just trying to rile you a little. I would never take my clothes off in the presence of ladies."

A chuckle escaped Spratt. "Are you counting me as one of the ladies, sir? Not a word, Miss Denker," he said, while Denker assumed the look of a puckered fish.

"No, Mr. Spratt, you are definitely not a lady."

"Want to bet?" Denker muttered under her breath, grunting in pain when Spratt ground his heel into her foot.

"Stop it," Violet snapped. "Or I will ship you both back to England. Is that clear?"

Denker and Spratt glared daggers at each other before saying "Yes, Your Ladyship."

"Good." Violet directed her attention to her butler. "Spratt, I imagine Lord Merton will be in need of your services, unless you want him to come to dinner disheveled and reeking of perspiration." Spratt nodded and departed for Dickie's room, and Violet now turned to her maid. "Denker, I shall need a bath before dinner." Her eyes narrowed at Jonathan. "Without an audience."

"Don't worry, Lady Grantham. I have as much desire to see you naked as you do me," Jonathan said evenly, leaving Violet speechless again. "I'll see you at dinner."

Only after Jonathan had left, shutting the door behind him, did Violet release a growl of frustration. _Did I say earlier that I didn't hate him? I'm tempted to think otherwise, the infuriating man!_

* * *

_If I have to hold in my laughter any longer, I swear my teeth are going to explode out of my mouth, _Denker thought, biting her tongue as she watched her mistress growl like an angry lioness. It was a rare person indeed who could verbally trounce Lady Grantham, and she couldn't help feeling a sneaking admiration for Mr. Holden. It was hilarious how he had shocked her like that, and even more so when Lady Grantham flushed red as a beet – something very few people ever had the privilege to witness. But, as much as Denker wanted to laugh, she knew there would be hell to pay if she did. She quickly composed her face into a neutral mask and said, "Penny for your thoughts, milady?"

Lady Grantham blew out a disgusted sigh. "The nerve of that man! Threatening to disrobe in front of others, and then making a joke out of it, to say nothing about that last remark."

The dowager turned so Denker could remove her necklace, and the maid hid a grin. Lady Grantham's neck was still scarlet from "that last remark." "He's just trying to get a reaction out of you, Your Ladyship. Far be it from me to give you orders, but you shouldn't pay him any mind."

"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who was strong-armed into spending time with him for three months. Although, you're probably speaking from experience, given your frequent jousts with Spratt."

_Perceptive, aren't you? _"Mr. Spratt and I can handle each other, milady. We're more like quarreling siblings than anything else." _And I shall have to wash my mouth out with soap after this, claiming that fat lump as my brother._

"If you say so." Lady Grantham handed her earrings to Denker. "Well, I suppose I must make an effort tonight. If Mr. Holden is going to be impressed by anything about me, it might as well be my evening frock."

_Translation: you couldn't intimidate him with your words or your attitude, so you're going for the sartorial angle. Subtle, Lady Grantham. _"Very good, milady." Denker opened up the biggest trunk, the one that Spratt had hauled upstairs. Inside were Lady Grantham's evening gowns, including her newest silk frocks. "Which gown will you be wearing tonight? The scarlet silk, perhaps?"

Lady Grantham shook her head. "No, not that. One wants to make a strong impression, but subtly, not shouting it in his face. No matter how badly one wants to." She scanned over the rainbow of colors in the trunk until she finally nodded at the one she deemed best. "I'll wear the purple silk frock tonight."

Denker lifted the dress out of the trunk. She had to admit, Lady Grantham had chosen well. The frock was royal purple with silver embellishments, pleasing to the eye but not loud. A small diamond tiara and jet beads were chosen to accompany the gown, and Denker had to wonder how well that would go over with Mr. Holden. He didn't strike her as one who flaunted his wealth despite its vastness, nor did he appear to be impressed by social ranks – again, despite his wealth. _I'm not going to say anything. If Lady Grantham wants to make a jackass of herself, let her do it. She's the one picking these togs out, so she can't blame me for anything going wrong. _

Once the attire had been laid out and the bath drawn, Denker got Lady Grantham secured in the tub down the corridor and finally had a minute to herself. While she was unpacking the dowager's things, she took the time to admire the view from the bedroom window. _It's absolutely smashing here so far. I can't wait to explore those grounds when I get a chance – if the old bat will let me enjoy this holiday while we're here. Perhaps I might decide to stay here, if I like it. This is the land of opportunity, after all. Who knows what opportunities await me…_


	9. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

Holy crap, what a wait! I'm so sorry for the delay between chapters; work has kept me busy with all the Coronavirus stuff going on. In this chapter, Violet goes down for dinner, but will she have another sparring match with Jonathan? Read on to find out!

For GraceBe and my other faithful reviewer who correctly guessed Robert Wagner, bravo! I thought he would make a perfect leading man for this tale; not to mention he's still a very good-looking man for his age! Another note on casting: I envisioned Annie Potts as Annie Jo, and her character is a nod to the role she played on _Designing Women. _As James McEntire, I pictured Gary Sinise, who possesses the quiet strength and good soul James will show later on in this tale.

A quick note on dinner: the Southern feast in this chapter can be sampled at the Michie Tavern in Charlottesville, VA, just past the Carter Mountain Orchard (best apples in the world!) and only three miles away from Monticello. Unfortunately, their amazing cold green beans aren't served anymore, but you can still eat the juiciest fried chicken anywhere and the coldest, sweetest glass of iced tea.

* * *

Violet had just dismissed Denker and was having a last look at herself in the mirror when there came a knock at the door. "Who is it?"

"Laurie."

The dowager smiled. "Come in," she said, turning to greet the child when she entered.

Laurie crossed the threshold and her eyes widened as she took in Violet's dress. "Wow! You look like a million bucks!" When Violet sent her an inquisitive look, she explained, "That means you look terrific."

"Thank you, dear," Violet said. She nodded at Laurie's lavender frock. "I see we thought along the same lines, color-wise."

"Yeah, but your dress is prettier than mine. Are those silver flowers on it?"

"Indeed. I love flowers, but I'm sure you've already guessed that."

"Well, you've come to the right place, I'm telling you. I can't wait until you see the gardens. They're the cat's meow."

Based on Laurie's tone, that expression meant _amazing, _so Violet didn't comment on it. However, she did ask a question. "Laurie, how big is Holden Park? All you said before was that there were a lot of gardens here."

"Man, I'm not really sure. It's over a thousand acres, I know that. I've lived here since I was a baby, and I still haven't explored every part of the land." Laurie's eyes sparkled hopefully. "Do you like to explore, Lady Grantham?"

"When I was your age, I did. Very much so." So much that it had led to scandal and heartbreak in Russia, but that was not something a twelve-year-old needed to hear. "I fear I'm too old for adventure now."

"No, you're not! Nobody's ever too old for an adventure." Laurie cocked her head and studied Violet's face. "You don't look much older than Granddad, and he's eighty-five."

_My age, _Violet thought. _But a lady never reveals her age, and she did laugh at something I said earlier… _"If you must know how old I am, I'm somewhere between forty and death," she said, waiting to see if Laurie would find it amusing.

She did. "You're really funny, Lady Grantham," she said, in between giggles.

A simple compliment, but it was a great lift to Violet's spirits. "Not everyone shares your opinion. Most people think I'm as cold as ice."

"No, you're not." Laurie shook her head. "I know what cold as ice is, and you're not it." Her face became completely serious. "Believe me, I know."

Once more, Violet found herself intrigued by the child. First, those large teal eyes that seemed so old at times, and now this sudden solemnity. What on Earth had she been through? Her sweet disposition seemed to prove otherwise, yet Violet knew better than anyone about wearing a mask to hide true feelings. Laurie had dealt with something, but Violet wasn't going to pry. Now was not the time. "How? You've barely known me a day."

"You know that feeling you get when you're around someone evil? Like your skin is crawling and you want to throw up?"

"Yes." Too well; Violet had frequently gotten the same feeling around her mother-in-law. Who did Laurie get it around?

"I don't get that feeling from you." Laurie's smile returned. "If I did, I would've run off quicker than a scared jackrabbit."

Now, it was Violet's turn to laugh. "Where did you hear _that_?"

"It's just Southern talk. There's more where that came from. If you want a lesson on Southern sayings, talk to Annie Jo. She's got a million of them." The _bong-bong _of the grandfather clock downstairs caught Laurie's attention. "It's almost six. We'd better go down. Do you want to walk with me?"

Violet held out her hand. "With pleasure," she said, beaming when Laurie's palm slid into hers.

* * *

Downstairs, Jonathan was holding court in the living room, catching up with Dickie and Isobel. Annie Jo had arrived early and offered to set the table so he could rest before supper – "You've cooked enough to feed that Navy regiment stationed at Norfolk, now put your feet up and let me set this food out," she'd said, shooing him out of the kitchen. So, while they waited for dinner to be put on the table, Jonathan listened to the tale of the royal visit to Downton Abbey – and the funny side of the story, which detailed a feud between Violet and her cousin Maud, the Lady Bagshaw.

"So Lady Grantham always thought the estate should go to her son, but Lady Bagshaw left it to her maid, who was actually her daughter?"

"And who is now being courted by Violet's grandson-in-law, Tom Branson," Isobel added.

"Isn't he the Irish chauffeur who married her youngest granddaughter?"

"That's Tom."

Jonathan grinned. "A chauffeur becoming lord of a manor. I bet Lady Grantham had a conniption at the very thought."

"Actually, quite the contrary," Dickie said. "Isobel told me that Violet was over the moon when she learned the truth."

"She was. Violet even said she would personally lick all of the stamps on their correspondence," Isobel said. "Even if Maud's estate isn't going to Robert, it'll still remain in the family."

"I should've known it was for mercenary reasons," Jonathan spoke up, with a mild eye roll. "Lady Grantham doesn't strike me as someone who does things out of the goodness of her heart – if she even has a heart."

Isobel fixed a pointed gaze on him. "Jonathan, stop. I once thought as you do, when Violet and I first met. Then, as time passed, I got to know her. There is a beautiful heart that beats beneath that frigid exterior; she's just… afraid to let it show all the time. Violet isn't evil, you know."

"Do I hear someone taking my name in vain?"

Out of habit, Jonathan rose to his feet. It was rude to remain seated when a lady entered the room, even if the lady in question was a – _beauty, _he thought, as Violet entered with Laurie. The countess had abandoned the red ensemble in favor of a silk gown dyed the color of her name and decorated with small silver flowers. All right, the diamond diadem she sported was a little much, but that dress was stunning, and the shade of purple made her eyes pop. How had he not noticed their color before? They were a brilliant blue, like sapphires – or the blue dahlias he had in abundance in his conservatory. Just gorgeous. _Whoa, boy, _he thought, slamming on the brakes. _Don't even go there. You remember what happened the last time you fell for a pair of pretty eyes, and this Brit is nothing but trouble._

Yet Jonathan couldn't help noticing how Laurie's hand was nestled in the dowager's, for the second time that day. There wasn't a trace of fear on her face, either – a far cry from her reaction the first time she'd met Vivian. And Violet didn't look uncomfortable in the slightest, holding a child's hand. _Let's see what happens at dinner._

"Always," Isobel said, responding to Violet's quip. She took in her cousin's outfit and Laurie's, and then burst out laughing. "I'm certainly glad I didn't miss the order to wear purple!"

Upon observation, Jonathan felt like chuckling himself. All three females were dressed in shades of purple: Violet in a royal hue, Laurie in lavender, and Isobel in a vibrant plum. Though it was undoubtedly a coincidence, it was pretty funny how the three of them looked like triplets.

Dickie joined in on the joke. "Well, I feel left out now. And underdressed, next to these glamorous ladies."

"Dickie, don't be ridiculous. You are perfectly dressed, as are we all. Well, most of us," Violet said, upon noticing that Jonathan hadn't changed his clothes.

"I'm well-dressed; I just prefer to be a little more comfortable at dinner. I gave up wearing the monkey suit years ago." Jonathan grinned wickedly. "Just be grateful it's not my birthday suit."

Violet's face colored, while Isobel and Dickie tried desperately not to laugh. "In front of your granddaughter? Do you have no couth at all?"

"Lady Grantham, it's okay," Laurie said; thankfully, she was laughing, too. "He's just teasing you. He does that to everyone."

"Oh, really?" Violet's eyes flicked to Jonathan. "Does this mean I'm not a special case after all?" she asked snidely.

"Oh, we're all special, Lady Grantham, from the humblest pauper to the richest king. Don't forget, the greatest King of all was born in a stable."

Violet rolled her eyes. "I am well aware of the circumstances surrounding our Savior's birth. What has that to do with anything?"

"It has to do with thinking you're a special case when it comes to me teasing you. You're not, so don't get high-and-mighty about it. I'd have comebacks ready for anyone who was acting like the sun didn't shine until they fell out of bed."

"And I suppose you think anyone with an English accent is a snob?"

Jonathan made a show of looking at Dickie and Isobel and then back at Violet. "They'd still be across the Atlantic if I did. Would you like to see if you can fit the other foot in your mouth while you're at it?"

Violet's eyes were sparking now. "Mr. Holden, you don't want to know where I'd like to fit it."

"You couldn't get your foot that high."

Thankfully, Annie Jo entered at that moment, preventing Violet from retorting. "Dinner's on the table, y'all!"

"Thank you, Annie Jo." Jonathan motioned for Violet, Isobel, and Laurie to go first. "Ladies first. Just follow Annie Jo." Violet, still holding Laurie's hand, glowered at him, but said nothing as they passed. Jonathan just smiled. _Feels pretty darn good to get the last word._

* * *

_How dare he get the last word, _Violet fumed silently as the party made their way to the dining room. _Smirking like the cat that caught the canary; what impertinence. How a man like that raised this dear girl holding my hand, I cannot conceive._

"You all right, hon? You look like a thundercloud."

Violet turned to see that Jonathan's housekeeper had fallen into step with her. Under any other circumstances, she would have been appalled that someone of servant class was walking beside her – and had called her _hon, _of all things – but now was not the time. Jonathan already thought she was a pretentious snob; there was no need to fuel the fire by talking down to one of his servants. Besides, this woman's eyes were so friendly, it seemed asinine to make an enemy of her, servant or not. "I'm perfectly fine," she said. Quickly, she changed the subject. "You're Mrs. McEntire, I presume?"

The woman's brown eyes glittered. "Mrs. McEntire was my mama. Please, call me Annie Jo." Violet must have been visibly uncomfortable, because Annie Jo merely nodded in understanding. "Not used to it, are you? It's all right. Call me whatever you like, just don't call me late for dinner."

Violet frowned. "We're right on time for dinner, Mrs. McEntire."

From her other side, Laurie laughed. "It's a joke, Lady Grantham. You're talking to the queen of stupid jokes over there."

"Excuse you, missy?" Annie Jo said to Laurie. "My boys and your granddaddy think I'm funny, so don't get sassy." She returned her attention to Violet. "I hope you can handle sassiness, Lady Grantham. You're gonna need it with this kid."

"Handle it? I'm the reason they invented the word," Violet said, ignoring Isobel's following comment of "Truer words were never spoken."

Annie Jo laughed. "Another funny lady, huh? I think you and I are gonna get along just fine."

Violet lowered her voice. "Far better than your employer and I, I hope."

"Oh, Mr. Holden's a big sweetie. Once you get to know him, you'll fall in love with him. I guarantee it."

_God, I hope not, _Violet thought, wondering if there was indeed some conspiracy to match her with this Yank. But she refrained from voicing her thoughts aloud, for Laurie's sake more than anything. She couldn't have said anything else if she wanted to, though, for Annie Jo led them into the dining room and a delicious smell washed over them all. _My, that smells incredible…_

Annie Jo turned to them with a smile. "Sit where you like and dig in. I'm gonna make sure my husband hasn't raided the kitchen for extras."

"Make him a plate, Annie Jo. He acts like a puppy begging for bones whenever we have fried chicken for dinner," Jonathan called after her. Much to Violet's surprise, he approached her and Laurie with a genial smile. "I thought maybe you two would like to sit across from each other so you can talk. You seem to be hitting it off."

"Well, that's very considerate of you," Violet said, as Jonathan held out a chair for her. "Perhaps this will prove that I'm not an ogre, if your granddaughter hasn't run away from me."

Was that a flash of pain in his eyes? "We'll see," he said, keeping that neutral mask in place.

The old flash of anger returned. _We'll see indeed. _Thanking God that she knew a thing or two about wearing a mask herself, Violet shot him a cold look and assumed her seat. Laurie, who was now sitting across from her, grinned. "Hey, _I _know you're not an ogre," she whispered.

Violet returned her smile. "Thank you, Laurie."

Jonathan took his place at the head of the table. "Before we get started, would anyone like to do us the honor of saying grace?"

_Well, there's another point in his favor, _thought Violet. _At least he's a practicing Christian. Although I'll be hanged if he acts like it._

"I'd like the pleasure," Dickie said, taking Jonathan up on it. He waited until everyone had bowed their heads before inclining his own and offering up the blessing. "Sovereign God, we give You thanks for bringing us safely across the ocean, for Jonathan's friendship and hospitality, and for this meal that You have graciously provided for us. We ask Your blessing in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen."

A collective _amen _rumbled around the table and Jonathan opened the covered dish nearest him. "You're all in for a real treat tonight. We have fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, black-eyed peas, stewed tomatoes, cold green beans, and cornbread."

"Gracious," Violet commented. "That's enough to feed a small army."

Jonathan actually smiled at that. "Annie Jo said the same thing. Right before she chased me out to the living room, she told me there was enough to feed the fellows at the naval base in Norfolk."

Violet frowned in confusion. "You don't mean Norfolk, England, do you?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No. There's a Norfolk here in Virginia, not far from Williamsburg. Quite a few places in these parts are named after towns and cities in England, including Suffolk and Hampton Roads."

Isobel, who was sitting next to Violet, nudged her gently. "More ties to us," she said, as she helped herself to the nearby mash and drowned it in gravy.

Violet started. "Are we serving ourselves tonight?"

Isobel nodded. "Yes. We're not waited on here."

"Whyever not? With all his wealth, can he not afford to pay a butler?"

"I can, but as far as I'm concerned, paying someone to do something I'm capable of doing myself is a waste of time and money. Nobody's spoon-fed me since I was a baby, and I'm not about to do it again." Jonathan flashed her that irritating smirk for what seemed like the umpteenth time. "And neither are you. Your hands aren't broken, are they?"

"Obviously not," Violet huffed, holding up both of her hands for his inspection. "But this is not a buffet. In England, we only serve ourselves at breakfast, never at dinner."

"You're not in England anymore, milady. When in Rome, do as the Romans do."

"I'm beginning to think the Romans were more civilized than this," Violet muttered, but not quietly enough to avoid Jonathan's ear. His eyes narrowed and he addressed her calmly, but firmly.

"Then don't eat. If you're that appalled at the idea of getting your own food, you can watch the rest of us enjoy our dinner. After all, you said you only serve yourself at breakfast. You should have worked up a good appetite by then."

Violet could only stare at him in shock, as did everyone else at the table. _What is it with this man and his ability to stun me into silence? _"What are you going to do? Send me to bed without supper? I'm not a child."

"Then stop acting like one. Get the silver spoon out of your mouth, pick up the wooden one in front of you, and start filling your plate," Jonathan retorted, turning his attention to the platter of fried chicken. "And pass the potatoes after you're done with them."

Violet glared at him and toyed with the idea of refusing to serve herself, but that would be cutting off her nose to spite her face. The last thing she wanted to do was prove him right about _anything, _so she grabbed the carved wooden spoon lying by her plate. After scooping a mound of mash for herself, she passed the dish across to Laurie, shooting her an apologetic look. Bless the child's heart, she turned to her grandfather and spoke up in Violet's defense. "Granddad, she's not used to it. Can you please be a little easier on her?"

To his credit, Jonathan looked slightly ashamed. "Honey, I would, but it's not easy when someone is kicking you because of your homeland."

"Believe me, it's not because of your homeland," Violet spoke up, locking eyes with Jonathan. "Nevertheless, I will be civil. But, it's not for your sake."

Jonathan's eyes flicked to Laurie, and then back to Violet, confirming that he understood. "I thank you for that. At least we both know what's really important here."

Violet nodded once and returned to the task of dishing up her dinner. When she had filled her plate with a little bit of everything, including one massive chicken breast, she had to admit it all looked delicious. It was nothing as elegant as the meals served at Downton, but it smelled amazing and… _well, let's see if it tastes as good as it smells. _She cut into the chicken and took a forkful. The second it hit her tongue, flavor exploded in her mouth. Moist, perfectly cooked white meat and breading seasoned with pepper, garlic, and another spice or two she couldn't name, all incredible. "Mmm," she hummed in pleasure, swallowing her bite. "This chicken is absolutely delicious."

"You're not just saying that to be civil?" Jonathan asked, casting a wary eye upon her.

"I assure you, I'm not. The only time I have ever lied about food was to keep Spratt from tormenting Denker over her chicken broth. I said it was delicious when in actual fact, it tasted dreadful. Spare that solitary occasion, I don't lie about what I eat. _This _is spectacular, so be sure and give my compliments to Mrs. McEntire."

Jonathan smiled. "I appreciate that, Lady Grantham, but Annie Jo didn't cook all of this."

Violet stilled her fork. "She didn't? Who did, then?"

His smile grew even wider. "You're looking at the chef."

_Will the surprises never end? _Violet stared at him in amazement. "You? _You _cooked our supper?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did. My mother, God rest her soul, didn't believe cooking was just a skill to be taught to girls, so she made sure I learned alongside my sisters. For the record, she also taught me some basic sewing skills and how to manage money, which is where I got my business sense from. She wanted me to be a self-sufficient man, not one who has to be babied all his life."

Violet was quiet for a few moments while she digested that, no pun intended. She'd known this man was a businessman who obviously knew his trade well – his wealth spoke of that – but she hadn't anticipated this mark of resourcefulness, which was not typically found amongst the English aristocracy. She'd long heard tales of the Americans doing various things, even in their smallest measures, to fend for themselves and pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, as the expression went, but she had never truly believed it. And seeing the evidence of just such an American sitting before her planted a little nugget of doubt in her mind: _have we in the nobility ever done anything to prove ourselves like this? _Pushing it away for the time being, she met his eyes again and said, honestly, "Well, your mother taught you well." She then dug into her repast with new gusto, finding everything – even the cold green beans, which bore a splendid blend of cider vinegar, garlic, and oregano – positively scrumptious. _I hate to admit it, but Mr. Holden could give Mrs. Patmore a run for her money in the culinary arts. _Finally thirsty, she raised her glass to her lips and got yet another surprise. The liquid inside was sweet, satisfying, and tasted like… "Tea? Is this tea?"

"I wondered how long it would be before you caught that," Jonathan said with another grin. "I know you're probably used to drinking it hot, but here in the South, we serve it over ice. And the sweeter, the better."

Violet shook her head. "I'd call this absolute sacrilege, serving tea cold." She took another sip of the drink and smiled. "But how something so sinful can taste so good, I don't know. I think this is one English custom you've actually managed not to mangle."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Was that a compliment about America?"

"Don't get used to it, Mr. Holden. I haven't passed final judgment yet."

Jonathan raised his glass in salute. "Hope springs eternal," he said, throwing her a truly charming smile. Violet forked some black-eyed peas into her mouth, praying to God they wouldn't jump around because of the butterflies in her stomach… no thanks to that gorgeous smile.


	10. A New Day Dawns

Again, I'm sorry about the wait between chapters - life is busy. In this update, we get another glimpse into Denker's thoughts, and a sweet moment between Violet and Laurie.

P.S. If any of you can get Spratt's joke in this chapter, props to you!

* * *

"Slow down, hon! Keep eating like that, and you'll have yourself a nasty stomachache."

Denker swallowed yet another copious mouthful of chicken and mash. "Do forgive me, Mrs. McEntire," she said, chasing her food with a gulp of tea. "I'm just starving, and everything is so delicious…"

"It may be delicious, but that doesn't mean you have to inhale your food like a pig at a trough," Spratt huffed, turning back to his own perfectly cut chicken thigh.

"It takes one to know one, Mr. Spratt," Denker fired back at him, stabbing her meat with her butter knife for emphasis.

Mrs. McEntire held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, there," she said, calling time on the argument. "I'm not having any arguments at this table. I get the feeling it's old hat for you two, but here, we keep the peace. Besides that, this poor thing's been through the wringer listening to both of you jawin'. Isn't that right, Carol?"

Williams nodded emphatically. "You don't know the half of it, ma'am. These two make the arguments between the Tory and Labour parties back in England look like schoolyard spats."

Mrs. McEntire chuckled. "Makes me glad President Coolidge doesn't say much."

Denker spoke up in her – and Spratt's – defense. "Mrs. McEntire, Miss Williams is exaggerating. It's really not that bad."

Williams barked a disbelieving laugh. "If you really believe your arguments ain't that bad, I've got some riparian property in the Sahara to sell you."

"Okay," Mrs. McEntire said, before Denker could snap back. "We've all had a chance to clear the air. And Denker, call me Annie Jo. I already told you it was all right."

Denker cleared her throat. "My apologies, Mrs. Mc- Annie Jo," she said, the housekeeper's Christian name stumbling off her tongue. "I'm simply glad you understand I prefer being called by my surname, as does Mr. Spratt. Though, when your Christian name is Septimus, it's understandable."

"My Christian name happens to be a very old and proud family name, Miss Denker," Spratt said coolly, helping himself to a second piece of cornbread. "It was the name of my grandfather and his father before him. Say what you will, but at least my name doesn't sound like an appellation for a joyful donkey."

Denker frowned in confusion, wondering three things: what on Earth Spratt was wittering on about, why Williams was snorting into her plate, and why Annie Jo was trying to conceal her own mirth. _Then _the joke sank in. "Why, you miserable son of a –"

"Language," Annie Jo warned, reverting from snickering to stern faster than a split infinitive. "I'm ready to bet Mr. Spratt doesn't want his mama's character called into question."

"It's a safe wager, Annie Jo," Spratt said. "After all, profanity is a sign of how ignorant one really is."

Not wanting to have the blame for all of the pot-stirring laid at her doorstep, Denker shoved a chunk of stewed tomatoes into her mouth and chewed furiously, glowering at Spratt the whole while. Barring his earlier muckups, the snake was now managing to charm Annie Jo and was also carrying on spirited conversation with her and Williams, as if they had all been friends for life. As if he belonged _here, _in America, the land of opportunity and freedom.

The very thought made Denker seethe. Spratt was an opportunist, looking for any chance to advance himself, to worm his way into people's good graces, to have what someone else did. And that was what this was all about. Spratt wanted Denker to have freedom in the New World like he wanted a venereal disease (oh, if fate would be so kind), so he was tagging along to trip her up and spoil her fun – to make her look like a fool so he would gain the upper hand. The donkey-brained halfwit probably thought of this as a challenge, like the Labyrinth or the Gordian Knot.

_Challenge accepted, Mr. Spratt. And over my dead body will you take what's rightfully mine._

* * *

Later that evening, Violet was nestled in bed with a good book, but her mind kept wandering away from Pemberley and dropping back into America with a solid _thunk. _The remainder of dinner had been surprisingly uneventful – she and Jonathan had not engaged in another battle of wits; not yet, at least – and delicious still, as they'd enjoyed coffee and dessert. Jonathan, proving he was just as adept with sweets as he was with a main course, had dished up banana pudding, something Violet had never tasted. It was decidedly unlike any English pudding she'd ever had, less cake and more trifle, but it was no less mouthwatering: creamy, cool, rich banana custard layered with moist sponge, truly a sweet treat. "I can't take credit for the coffee, though," Jonathan had said. "That's purely Annie Jo."

Thankfully, Violet hadn't had to say much of anything else to him for the rest of the evening. Laurie had pulled her aside as soon as dinner was over and asked her to play Charades. Never one to pass up a good guessing game, Violet joined in with Laurie and Isobel, and the three girls had a splendid time. _I never thought I'd be able to enjoy myself in America, but here I am. If only our esteemed host could act like a gentleman, this might actually be a pleasant holiday… _The image of Jonathan's face right before she went to bed flashed into her mind. He seemed to have abandoned the defensive front and was now playing up a "roguish" act, for he'd had the nerve to bid her goodnight and wink at her, those eyes glittering with mischief. Probably because he knew it would irritate her, the devil take him. Although, if he was aware of the effect those lovely eyes had on her, then heaven help her…

Violet started when a knock sounded at the door. _Who could that be at this hour? It can't be Denker; she always scurries off like a criminal whenever I dismiss her for the night. _"Who is it?"

"It's just me, Lady Grantham," came a sweet voice from the other side.

Violet chuckled. "Come in, dear," she said, marking her place in her book. Laurie entered, barefoot and nightgown-clad, bearing a cup of something steaming. "I thought you might like some hot chocolate. I usually make myself some before I go to bed, so I figured I'd make you one, too."

"Oh, that was thoughtful," Violet said, accepting the cup. "You're a darling." Laurie's cheeks dimpled in a smile, and the dowager regarded her for a second before patting the bed beside her. "Come sit."

Laurie skipped to the opposite side of the bed and scrambled next to Violet. "This is something you and Granddad have in common. If I need to talk to him at night, he'll let me climb in bed with him. And if I have nightmares, he's always there to hold me until I'm feeling better."

Perhaps she was being too hard on Jonathan. The man clearly wasn't fond of her and got a kick out of teasing her, but he obviously loved this child with all of his heart, as evidenced by his acknowledgment at dinner. "He really does love you, doesn't he?"

"He sure does." Eyes twinkling, Laurie gave Violet a gentle elbow. "He's not a monster. You two will get along gangbusters before you know it."

"Or before we kill each other?"

"Quit," Laurie said, elbowing Violet again. She suddenly tilted her head and gazed at her friend. "You know, you look nice with your hair down."

Reflexively, Violet ran a hand through her thick, deep-silver hair. "I don't usually leave it down when I sleep. Denker, my maid, ties it back, but I decided to relieve her of the trouble tonight, as she appeared to be in a foul mood."

Laurie quirked an eyebrow. "Forgive me for asking, but is that her usual mood? She sure seemed grumpy when she, Mr. Spratt, and Miss Williams got here."

Violet laughed. "I admit, Denker does have the unfortunate habit of looking like she was weaned on a pickle. Although, she most frequently sports it whenever she and Spratt are at odds."

"I heard them arguing earlier."

"I'm sure all of Virginia heard them."

Laurie grinned at Violet. "It wasn't really nice of Mr. Spratt to bring up Denker's, uh… problem."

Violet waved a hand. "There are so many reasons why those two are not kind to each other, so even something as revolting as that no longer bothers me."

"How do you put up with them?"

Violet's smile became rather devious. "I get bored. Watching them go at each other is my version of the emperor observing a gladiator duel. If I sacked both of them, I would have no entertainment."

Laurie giggled. "You don't get out much, do you?"

"I'm not as fit as I was, young lady! Believe it or not, I traveled the world once. Some parts I fell in love with, and others were forsaken by God long ago."

"What about here? Do you think this place was forsaken by God?"

Violet thought about that. So far, what she had seen of Virginia appeared to be blessed by God, not forsaken – as had much of the countryside she'd seen on the train from New York. If this side of the nation was anything to go by, the rest of the country was likely just as blessed. "No," she admitted softly. "If anything, God showered incredible favor on this land. But don't tell your grandfather I said that. Not yet."

"Secret's safe with me. He'll get a bigger kick out of hearing it from you, anyway."

"Mrs. McEntire was right. You are a sassy thing," Violet said, though she couldn't help smiling.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Violet gently chucked Laurie under her chin. "Take it from a master at the craft, my dear; it's a very good thing. Don't ever let anyone take that from you. It'll hold you in good stead when you're older."

Laurie's eyes were shining. "I wish you'd been here to tell me that two years ago. Granddad's former wife was never fond of my jokes."

Immediately, Violet's attention was snared. This was the first she'd heard of the wife whom Jonathan had divorced. _Isobel said they did not part amicably. Apparently, Laurie wasn't fond of her, either, if she's not even referring to this woman by her name. _"What exactly didn't she like?"

A dark look came over Laurie's face, like a cloud blotting out the sun. "She thought girls needed to be silent and stupid, never mind she was never silent herself. She just didn't like that Granddad was raising me to have my own mind. There were a lot of things she didn't like about me."

Violet wanted to press Laurie for more details, but she held her tongue. The way that Laurie looked away when disclosing this insight, plus her folded arms, said that she did not want to discuss it any further. She didn't blame the child at all – Violet herself understood the feeling of being picked on. _What could that woman have said to her? _"I know how you feel. There was once someone in my life who didn't like _anything _about me, and they never let me forget it."

"Really? Who?"

"Don't let's talk about it tonight," Violet said, not unkindly. "Neither of us needs to go to bed troubled." She rested a hand on Laurie's shoulder. "Laurie, dear girl, I don't know what you've been told, but hear this. I've only known you for one day, and I don't see how anyone can't fall in love with you. And that is tremendous praise, coming from one who doesn't compliment Americans easily."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

Laurie's smile could have outshone the sun in that moment. She threw her arms around the dowager's shoulders and squeezed tight, hugging her close. Violet was slightly taken aback by the spontaneity of the moment, but gladly returned Laurie's embrace, rocking her as she did her granddaughters – and her great-grandchildren, when no one was looking. "Well," she said, when the hug broke, "I wondered how long it would be before I got the same welcome as Dickie and Isobel."

Mischief sparked in Laurie's eyes. "Too much?"

"No. Just right." Violet gave her little friend a pat on the back. "Now, off to bed with you. It's getting late."

"Yes, ma'am." Laurie slid off the bed. "Good night, Lady Grantham."

It only took a second for Violet to decide to break one tradition. "Violet."

Halfway to the door, Laurie stopped in her tracks. She turned to Violet with astonishment on her face. "What?"

"That's my name." Violet smiled. "You can call me Violet, my dear."

If the dowager had told her to take her pick of the jewels she'd brought from England, Laurie couldn't have looked more thrilled. "Good night… Violet."

"Good night, Laurie." Once the door closed behind Laurie, Violet turned out the light and lay back in bed. Astonishing, how natural it felt to hear Laurie call her by her Christian name. What was more, she actually was looking forward to tomorrow – a new day in the New World. _That is, if Mr. Holden doesn't spoil it with more of his obnoxious jokes, or more torture about the Fourth of July. Some people have no respect, _was her last thought before succumbing to sleep.

* * *

"I swear, some people have no respect," Jonathan said, slapping a hand to his morning edition of the _Virginia Gazette. _"It's bad enough that the historic part of Williamsburg was virtually wiped off the map over the last century, but now a battlefield, too?"

"Which battlefield, Jonathan?" Isobel inquired, sitting down at the table with a plate brimming with bacon, eggs, and ham. "Given this area's connection to the Revolution, there's quite a few of them."

"And the Civil War, but that's beside the point." Jonathan handed Isobel the paper. "It's Yorktown. Last year, the local country club decided to build their golf course around the earthworks left over from the battles, and now they want to put a hotel right in the middle of the field itself." He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "That field is the place where we won our independence as a nation, but does the country club set care about that? Oh, no. Frolicking on the fairway and lounging around eating canapés is more important to them than preserving our country's history."

"Can nothing be done?" asked Dickie, after swallowing a mouthful of eggs. "You're involved with the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities, and you were instrumental in aiding Reverend Goodwin in his restoration of Bruton Parish not so long ago. Surely between his knowledge and your resources, you can prevent Yorktown from becoming a casualty of the county set."

Jonathan shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Dickie. The battlefield is privately owned. I've tried discussing the matter with the Association and we've gone to the owner of the country club with an offer to buy the land, but it's always been a resounding _no_. We're not giving up, though. We're still working on a new offer to throw on the table at our next meeting, although honestly, it'll take either an act of God or a crisis of epic proportions to prevent that hotel from defacing Yorktown. I just thank the Lord that they've only been able to build the golf course around the battlefield proper."

"Probably because even they're too afraid of desecrating sacred ground," Isobel said. "That battlefield is where lives were claimed, after all, both American and English."

"I know." The words, however, took firm root in Jonathan's mind. _Hmmm, now there's an idea… not now, though; maybe in a couple of weeks… it'll either improve foreign relations or fireworks really will be flying…_

"Good morning, all!"

Jonathan immediately rose for the dowager countess as she entered the dining room. He had to admit, she looked quite pretty in her baby-blue day dress trimmed with lace and – a peacock design on the bodice's sides? _That's fitting, _he snickered inwardly. _Based on what I saw last night, she loves being flashy, although that evening gown was beautiful. _He clamped the thoughts down firmly when _so was the lady _followed that sentiment. "Good morning, Lady Grantham. Help yourself to some breakfast. I'm sure you'll have no problem serving yourself now."

Violet stopped and shot a smirk his way. "Certainly not, Mr. Holden, although I can do without a second helping of snide comments. Sarcasm does not become you."

"Pot, meet kettle," Jonathan said, pouring every last bit of sarcasm he possessed into both his words and his smile.

"Sound the bell; here comes Round Two," Isobel said with a perfectly straight face, while Dickie tapped a butter knife on his glass of orange juice.

"And don't you two encourage him," Violet commanded, as she began piling her plate with food. "This is not a boxing match."

Jonathan couldn't resist. "I don't know; I bet you could go a few rounds with Jack Dempsey and win."

"By what means, pray tell?" Violet asked as she sat down across from Isobel.

"Well, if your tongue doesn't cut him to ribbons, that cane of yours would work in a pinch."

Violet simply smiled. "You have no idea how well, Mr. Holden," she said, leaning the stick against her chair. "No idea at all."

Jonathan was about to reply that he had a very good idea when Laurie bounced into the room. "Good morning, y'all! Morning, Granddad," she said, greeting him with a hug and a kiss.

"Morning, sweetie." Jonathan kissed his granddaughter. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, sir." Laurie bade Isobel and Dickie a good morning, while Jonathan took a gulp of his orange juice. His granddaughter then turned to the dowager countess and flashed her a bright smile. "Good morning, Violet!"

_Pthew! _Orange juice sprayed Jonathan's ham and eggs as the man himself coughed to clear his throat. When he finally did look up, it was to flabbergasted faces. Well, three flabbergasted faces and one very amused face, as Violet was grinning like a fool at this sudden _faux pas. _Jonathan wiped his mouth with his napkin, cleared his throat again, and said to Laurie, "What did you call her?"

Laurie shrugged. "Violet. She said I could call her by her first name. Are you all right, Granddad?"

"I'm fine. I'm just amazed she gave you permission."

"She's earned the privilege," Violet cut in, still smiling. "You might earn it as well, someday, when you've put your sardonicism in check. Or when you've perfected your impression of a whale, which sorely needs some work."

Jonathan could have taken that the wrong way and countered with a snipe. However, he decided to see the funny side of it and just chuckled. "Well, when you're right, you're right. The whale impression isn't exactly number one in my repertoire."

"Oh? And what is?"

He turned his grin on the dowager. _Time for a shock. _"My impression of a great kisser. It's a good one; read my lips."

The shock worked, for magenta shot into Violet's cheeks. "If you think I'm going to read in Braille, you've got another think coming," she fired back.

"Granddad, don't embarrass her," Laurie spoke up. "And Violet, he's just joking. Don't take it too seriously."

"Watch out, children; Mother has spoken," Isobel said, joining in on the jests.

"Oh, pipe down, Isobel," Violet retorted.

"No, she's right. I've been raising Laurie since she was a baby, but I can't keep her from acting like a little mama to me," Jonathan said fondly, rubbing his granddaughter's shoulder with affection. "She just likes taking care of people."

"Like last night," Violet said, with a genuine smile. "She brought me hot chocolate. It was a lovely thought."

Laurie shrugged. "I just like doing things for everyone. You never know who might need a little help or some cheering up."

Jonathan kissed the top of her head. "Is it any wonder why I love this girl?"

Was it his imagination, or had Violet's eyes gone from icy to warm? "None at all." All right, definitely _not _his imagination. Had this imperious woman, who was so eager to argue and spar with him, taken a shine to his granddaughter? _Well, Isobel's said she does have grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Who knows; maybe she isn't completely cold with them. If she does have a soft side, maybe she only shows it with kids. Either way, it's nice to see someone who actually likes Laurie, _he thought, trying to shove the thought of _her _to the back of his mind.

A minute or two passed while Laurie excused herself to get her own plate of breakfast, and then chatter resumed once everyone was seated. In between mouthfuls of bacon and eggs, Laurie posed a question. "Granddad, is it all right if I take Violet on a tour of the gardens today? I told her about them yesterday, and I think she really wants to see them."

Violet nodded. "She's right, Mr. Holden. I must admit, I'm curious to see how well you've cared for this land – and how your gardens compare to England's."

"You won't find any finer on either side of the Atlantic," Jonathan said confidently. "Laurie, it's fine with me if you show Lady Grantham around, but don't go into the conservatory today. James has a team of gardeners in there, and we're working on the summer exhibit."

"Oh, you open the gardens to the public?" Violet asked, intrigued.

Jonathan nodded. "Yes, I do. I love horticulture as much as the next person, but what's the point of having all of these plants if I can't share them with people? Besides that, it's a great opportunity to educate visitors about plants and flowers from around the world. Every plant has a purpose, just like every human being on Earth does."

Violet gazed at him thoughtfully. "And what about me? What do you believe my purpose is?"

This could have easily been an opportunity for Jonathan to make some crack about being an utter pain in the rear end, or something of the same variety. And it was tempting, make no mistake. Part of him still wasn't sure he could trust the dowager. However, he reined in his tongue and replied, "I'll let you know. In the meantime, I have to get to work. My florist in town is short a man, so I'm standing in today."

"_Your _florist?"

"He owns the shop," Laurie explained to Violet. "Now and then, he helps out Dorothy, who runs it most of the time, when she needs an extra pair of hands."

"And today is one of those days." Jonathan rose from his chair. "I'll be back later tonight. Annie Jo is here all day if you need her, and as I said, James is in the conservatory."

"May I help out, if he'll allow it?" Dickie asked.

Jonathan chuckled. "You won't even have to ask him. You've been volunteering every time you visit, and he's always grateful for the help."

"You help Mr. McEntire with the gardens, Dickie? Why did you never mention this before?" Violet questioned her cousin-in-law.

"It never came up in conversation. Besides, a baron doing what many of our stratum of society would consider common work? I didn't want to scandalize you," Dickie said, his gray eyes impish.

Indeed, Jonathan fully expected Violet to have a spasm at the idea of a nobleman lowering himself to the standard of a workhorse. However, the dowager was still full of surprises. She gave Dickie a look that clearly said _oh, please. _"Dickie, do give me some credit. I may be from a time where aristocratic men did not soil their hands, but I can accept that times have changed – at least, in this respect. My eldest granddaughter is managing Downton and is not afraid of getting her hands dirty; she has wrestled pigs in the mud, for heaven's sake. If you want to assist Mr. McEntire, I promise you won't find me clutching at my pearls."

Dickie laughed. "All right, then, that's settled. I'm off to the conservatory. Isobel, darling, would you like to come with me? Those men will need a lady to keep them in line."

"As much fun as that sounds, no, thank you," Isobel said with a smile. "I think I'll help Annie Jo around the house today. It's been a while since I got my own hands dirty, and this will give Violet and Laurie some time to bond."

"Yeah!" Laurie cheered, grabbing Violet's hands in her own. "That means we have the gardens to ourselves!"

Violet chuckled at the girl's excitement. "Settle down, my dear. We still have to eat. Can't go exploring on an empty stomach, you know."

Jonathan's eyes lingered on the two together. "Take care of her, all right?"

"I will, Granddad, don't worry," Laurie said, reaching out and giving Violet's hand another squeeze.

"Not you, sweetheart," Jonathan clarified, focusing his attention more clearly on Violet.

The countess met his gaze and held it. "She's in good hands. I promise you that."

Jonathan nodded. "I'm holding you to it." He bade them all farewell and strode out to his car, praying with all his might that leaving his granddaughter alone with the dowager countess would turn out to be the best idea he'd ever had. _I've already had the worst; I don't need to top it with another one._


	11. In the Garden

Holy Toledo, Batman; it's been a while! My apologies for the wait; this chapter took some thinking. When we left off, Laurie was going to take Violet on a tour of the gardens at Holden Park. Now, the tour begins! I won't lie; I had some serious fun writing this chapter, largely due to the descriptions. Not to mention I'm having a blast developing Laurie and Violet's relationship.

P.S. If any of you get the itch to visit Holden Park after this, I have good news: you actually can! The gardens that inspired Jonathan's estate is not actually in Virginia, but in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. Longwood Gardens has been in operation since the 1920s and boasts plants from all around the world, including the ones I name in this chapter. Make sure you check out photos -nI guarantee you won't be disappointed!

* * *

Brilliant sunshine was pouring out of a cloudless blue sky as Violet and Laurie walked the trail to the main gardens. It was a warm day, just shy of hot, and Violet gave thanks that she had brought an umbrella. _No sense in looking like old shoe leather, and at my age, I haven't got much margin for error. _Laurie did not carry a parasol, but she did have a wide-brimmed sun hat on her head, and made no secret of her disdain for it.

"I hate wearing it, but Granddad says I have to."

"And well he should. He's trying to ensure that you don't look like a boiled lobster."

"I know. I'm just not a hat person, unless it's a baseball cap."

"Baseball? What is that?" Violet asked.

Laurie stopped in her tracks and fixed Violet with an amazed expression. "You've never heard of baseball?"

Violet shook her head. "I can't say that I have. Is it a game?"

Laurie grinned; Violet could almost feel the excitement radiating off her. "It's only the greatest game invented! Come on; I'll tell you all about it!"

Violet listened with interest as Laurie explained the ins and outs – quite literally – of a sport that, while apparently as American as their flag, bore a resemblance to cricket. Nine men on a team, all lining up to strike a ball with a wooden bat and then running to claim bases? "It sounds simple enough," Violet said, when Laurie had finished her rundown of the game. "Cricket has the same premise: one bowls the ball to the batter, who hits it and then runs before his opponent can get him out."

"It's not as easy as you think. You've really got to be fast to take a base, and it's no small deal, getting a home run. You need some muscle in a good baseball swing. Like Babe Ruth. He's already hit 22 home runs this season."

"Now, who is he?"

"The bee's knees, that's who. He's called the Sultan of Swat because of all the homers he's hit. He and Lou Gehrig are the best players on the Murderers' Row."

"The Murderers' Row?" Violet laughed. "Don't tell me this is actually a team of convicted felons."

"It's not," Laurie chortled. "That's just a nickname for the batting lineup of the New York Yankees. They earned that name because they're practically unbeatable – they slaughter nearly every team they play."

Violet gave Laurie a sideways grin. "And have you been fortunate enough to witness the carnage?"

"Yes, ma'am! Last month, Granddad had to go to New York on business, and he took me with him. We went to Yankee Stadium to watch them play, and we had a swell time."

"What was it like? My observance of sports has only been limited to fox hunting and cricket, I'm afraid."

Laurie smiled. "It's pretty amazing. Hearing the crowd roar when the ball is knocked out of the park, smelling the popcorn and peanuts… feeling the sun on your face and tasting a cold soda pop. Maybe the next time you visit, we can go see a game together. I think you'd have a lot of fun."

Violet almost laughed at the notion, although Laurie's description of the game and the atmosphere had her wondering. "My dear, I would be a fish out of water at an event like that. Most people there would undoubtedly take one look at me and wonder, 'What on Earth is that toffee-nosed old bat doing here?' Or whatever your American slang might be."

"Toffee-nosed? What does that mean?"

"It means that one is a snob."

"Why? Because of how you dress? That won't matter. People dress up to go to the market and the movie theater here. What, did you think we all dressed like bums?"

Violet blushed. "Old habits die hard," she said. "There was a time when I thought all Americans dressed in feathers."

A mischievous smile slid across Laurie's face. "Only on special occasions."

That quick response tickled Violet and she broke out laughing. "Oh, you!" she gibed, gently nudging Laurie with her elbow. Laurie joined in the laughter until they came to a fork in the path. "Here we are!"

Violet didn't know where to look first. To the left was a garden filled with the most magnificent topiaries she had ever seen – and beyond that, the sound of rushing water. Straight ahead and up on a small hill was a stone-and-glass building that could only be the conservatory. Laurie, however, was indicating the path to the right, which opened on a circle of arbors, all crammed with hot pink roses. "How lovely!"

"You ain't seen nothing yet. Follow me." Laurie motioned for Violet to follow her through the arbors. Beyond the roses lay a rainbow of flora – tiger lilies, daffodils, peonies, foxglove, and tulips – dear Lord, the _tulips! _Scarlet, orange, golden, and fuchsia tulips shot up on either side of the walkway, their colors so vibrant, it nearly hurt to look at them. "I've never seen this many tulips outside of Holland," Violet commented, drinking in the flowers with hungry eyes. "It's extraordinary."

"They're pretty, all right, but if you want extraordinary, just wait. The best is yet to come," Laurie said, looping her arm around Violet's. They passed by yet more beautiful sights, including a blue fountain ringed with buttery yellow daffodils and another arbor that dripped with wisteria, before the path led them into a shaded wood.

"Ah, this feels nice," Violet said, welcoming the shade's cooling relief.

"Keep walking. We're coming up on one of my favorite places in Holden Park." Before long, the trees ended and the gardens began again. Laurie beamed and flung out her arms. "Welcome to the pond!"

One glance, and Violet could see why it was one of Laurie's cherished spots. The pond sparkled in the sunlight and reflected the clear blue of the sky, while lush green ferns grew on both banks. A sandstone balcony rose beyond the pond, and a spray of water was just visible above it; steps led down from the balcony to the water's edge. Nearby, a beautiful cupola with stone pillars and an intricate, wrought-iron lattice dome stood on the bank like a guard – or a relic from ancient Greece. It truly was as pretty as any English landscape she'd seen, although there was one touch that was decidedly American. "Now, whose idea was that?" she asked with a laugh, gesturing at a splendid treehouse built around a pair of nearby oaks.

"Mine. I wanted a hideaway when the sun got too hot, so Granddad and James built this for me. Isn't it the most?"

"To say the least." Violet had to admit, she was impressed. It was no mere shack in a tree, that was for sure. It looked like a miniature house, with a glass window in the roof and even a railed deck, and stairs for easy access. "That is remarkable craftsmanship. And you said your grandfather helped build it for you?" When Laurie nodded, Violet said, "Is there any end to his talents?"

"There is. He can't fly." Laurie giggled when Violet gave her hat a flick. "We'll go in another time, though. Right now, you've got to see the Italian garden."

"Italian garden?"

"Yeah! Come on!" Laurie led Violet to the balcony. Looking down, Violet could at last see the source of the water: six fountains – four trapezoidal basins spraying aquatic streams, surrounding a rounded fountain in the middle; the largest of them all stood in the back with a geyser that had to be at least twenty feet high. Laurie hadn't been jesting about the garden's name, for the fountains would not have been out of place at a villa in Tuscany. "How beautiful is that?" Violet said, her eyes feasting on the foaming white gushes shooting into the air and pouring back into the blue tiled bowls of the fountains. "Mr. Holden must be an admirer of European architecture to replicate it here."

"He is. Granddad's done a good job keeping up with the times, but he loves history and ancient cultures. All the times he went to Europe on his business trips, he came back wanting to add something new to the gardens. At least, that's what he's told me. A lot of this was built before I was born. This garden…" Laurie waved a hand at the Italian fountains, "Granddad built for Grandma, for their fortieth anniversary. She loved Italy even more than he did, so he gave her a piece of it right here."

Violet smiled. "I'm sure he had to work hard to top that present every year after. How long were they married when your grandmother died?"

"Fifty-one years. Can you imagine?"

"Were they happy?"

"Very. He still misses her every day." Laurie looked thoughtfully at Violet. "What about you? Are you married?"

Violet inclined her head. "No, I'm not," she said quietly. "My husband died twenty-five years ago."

"Was it cancer?"

"No. The aortic vein in his stomach ruptured. When that happens, it's massive internal bleeding. My darling Patrick was dead before he collapsed to the floor." She swiped at a tear. "I just thank God it was quick. He didn't suffer very much, which is a mercy. He'd already suffered enough." _Because of me._

Laurie was listening with her eyes fixed on Violet's face, but she didn't pursue that last remark. "You must've really loved him."

A pang of loss and guilt stabbed at Violet's heart like a dual-edged sword. "More than he ever knew," she murmured, turning the wedding ring on her left hand. "Not a day goes by that I don't wish we had more time together."

Silence passed for a heartbeat, and Laurie reached out to take Violet's hand. "He's not really gone, you know. He's still in your heart. He'll always be with you."

Violet had to smile at the child's innocent faith. It reminded her of the old adage about the departed never truly leaving their loved ones, as long as they were remembered. "You feel the same way about your parents and your grandmother, don't you?"

Laurie nodded. "I know they're watching. Besides, isn't there an expression that says the ones we love don't really leave us?"

_She read my mind. _"There is indeed." Violet squeezed Laurie's hand. "For one so young, you're awfully wise, Laurie."

Laurie shrugged. "Nah. I just have strong faith, that's all."

Violet smiled. "Perhaps one day, my faith will be as strong as yours."

"It's not hard. All you have to do is ask." Laurie's eyes flicked toward heaven before landing back on Violet's face. "Come on. We've still got a lot to see," she said, leading Violet onto another path into the shaded woods.

Violet's eyes went wide. "There's more than this?"

Laurie laughed. "I told you you ain't seen nothing yet! Did you hear water running at the fork in the trail?"

"Yes."

"That's our next stop, then! We'll save the meadow and the forest walk for another day."

"The meadow?"

"Yeah, I'll show you." They walked over a sturdy wooden bridge and came across another fork. At the trail head was yet another pond, shaped like an hourglass, and a glimpse of tall grass and wildflowers that swayed in the breeze. Laurie pointed in that vicinity. "That's the meadow. We've still got a lot of ground to cover today, and it takes a good couple of hours to walk the meadow and the woods. We're better off doing it another time."

Violet marveled at the wild greenery, colorful wildflowers, and a spray of milkweed, with the blue sky above. "When you said this place was big, you weren't kidding."

"I know. That meadow is a big piece of what I haven't explored yet. I've walked it a lot, but the forest trails run so deep, I've never walked all of them."

Violet smiled at her little friend. "Perhaps we can explore them together."

Laurie's eyes were twinkling as she regarded the countess. "I thought you said you were too old to go exploring."

"I can change my mind, can't I?"

"Sounds like Mary quite contrary."

"No, that's my granddaughter, although she gets it honestly. Ironically, she was the one to whom I said that I could be as contrary as I chose." Violet smiled. "We women need to be a little contrary in order to get on in this world. Remember that," she said, touching Laurie's shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am." They walked back through the gardens, chatting about this and that, passing under trees loaded with purple and white wisteria, their heady fragrance filling the air. When they came back to the fork in the path, Laurie led Violet up the fork near the conservatory and then veered left, past the lush topiary garden. Violet couldn't help staring in awe at the numerous shapes cut from the green shrubs: classic orbs, pyramids, birds perched atop leafy pillars, and what appeared to be a giant dog on its haunches. All the while, the sound of water was getting louder and closer, until Laurie spun in the middle of the path and smiled. "Surprise!"

Violet's jaw dropped. _Surprise _didn't even begin to cover it. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink – everywhere she looked, there was a fountain. Crystal-clear arches streamed into ornate stone basins; multiple founts of water shot up from the same pools and swirled around each other, creating a dazzling, basket-weave effect. Behind an ivy-covered, Greco-Roman wall at the far end of the garden, two tall geysers flanked a spectacular fan-shaped gusher that sent mist flying through the air. Sunlight struck the hazy curtain, turning the clear droplets into a vivid rainbow. Such a scene warranted volumes of praise, but all Violet could condense it into was one word. "Wow," she breathed, struck dumb by the beauty of the display.

"It's the berries, isn't it?" Laurie said, likewise grinning at the fountains.

"If you mean absolutely marvelous, you can say that again." Violet shook her head in awe. "I can't believe my eyes. I've never seen so many fountains in my life."

Laurie chuckled. "Granddad loves fountains almost as much as he loves flowers. Whenever he opens the gardens up for people to visit, this is one of the most popular spots. He always says the joy everyone gets out of it is worth every penny of the water bill."

Violet's grin turned wry. "Exactly how much _is _the water bill?"

"You don't want to know." Laurie slid her hand in Violet's and they began walking past the many fountains. "Wait 'til you see this. If you like Italy, you'll love what I'm about to show you."

As they neared the wall Violet had observed, she noted that, once again, Laurie was right. Italian architecture had clearly influenced the design of this beautiful structure: a graceful colonnade with limestone arches decorated with small individual fountains, ivy trickling down the wall, and marble statues of Roman gods and goddesses guarding either side, giving the place a near-sacred air. "It feels like I'm in another world," she said, unable to resist trailing her fingers in the glistening pools.

"You want to see another world? Come with me," Laurie said. They slipped through one of the arches and down a tunnel that opened up yet another surprise. Violet couldn't help grinning at the sight. Beneath the colonnade was a stone grotto that, although probably only recently built, seemed as ancient as the Olympic gods. Rough-hewn, sparkling mica walls provided the feeling of a cave lost to time; a carved brook against the far wall bubbled happily, and a stunning waterfall fell in a round column from the fountains above and into a pool in the center of the room. "This is so beautiful," she said, breathing a happy sigh. "Everything is. The flowers, the fountains… I can't believe the creativity that was poured into this."

"That's American ingenuity for you," came a familiar voice. Violet and Laurie turned just in time to see Isobel walk into the grotto, a basket in her hand and a smile on her face. "Well, I see you two are getting on like a house afire."

"We've had a lovely morning," Violet confirmed, drawing Laurie near. "Laurie showed me just how splendid these gardens truly are."

"As splendid as any English garden?"

"No." Isobel raised an eyebrow, and Violet shot her a mischievous grin. "Better."

Isobel held a hand to heaven. "Did Violet Crawley just admit that an American garden was better than an English one? Surely this is a sign of the Second Coming of Christ!"

"Oh, shut up, Isobel," Violet ordered, while Laurie chuckled beside her. "Have you come here for a reason, other than to harangue me?"

Isobel held up her basket. "Annie Jo and I have prepared a picnic for everyone. She and her son Beau are setting up our table and chairs under the wisteria arbor as we speak."

Immediately, Laurie brightened. "Beau's here? Is he going to have lunch with us?"

"I don't see why not. The more, the merrier."

Laurie pumped a fist in the air. "Yes!" She turned to face Violet. "Violet, do you mind if I go on ahead? Beau's my best friend, and I haven't seen him in a while. I'd love to say hello to him."

A knowing smile crossed Violet's face. "Not at all, dear one. Go on." She waited until Laurie had skipped out of the grotto before addressing Isobel. "So, do tell me. What is going on between Laurie and Mrs. McEntire's son?"

Isobel chortled as she and her cousin began the walk back through the fountain garden. "Laurie will tell you that she and Beau are nothing more than good friends, but I think you saw the look in her eyes when I mentioned his name. She's sweet on him; she just doesn't want to admit it."

"I think her actions are speaking far louder than her words," Violet observed sagely. "How old is this boy?"

"Thirteen, just a year older than Laurie."

"How long have they known each other?"

"All their lives. They've been friends since they were old enough to walk."

"Does he treat her well?"

Isobel began laughing again. "Violet, you sound like Hegai interviewing candidates for King Xerxes' queen. Laurie and Beau are not preparing to elope, for heaven's sake."

"I am well aware of that. I simply want to make sure Laurie is in good company. Should this friendship indeed bloom into romance, this young man had better treat her as a gentleman should. A girl that precious deserves nothing but love."

Isobel gazed affectionately at her cousin before pulling Violet close in a one-armed hug. "I love you, do you know that? It's moments like this that show what a beautiful heart you really have. Why you hide it from the world, I can't fathom."

"Hearts are like glass, Isobel. Some are beautiful, some are hard, and all are equally fragile should the wrong person handle them. They need to be protected until the right one can be trusted not to break them."

Noting how quiet her cousin's voice had become on that last sentence, Isobel reached for Violet's hand and squeezed it. "I know you're speaking from experience, but it might actually serve you well here. Laurie has needed a female protector in her life for quite some time now, and God be praised if you're the one He's sent."

Violet cast a puzzled look upon Isobel. "Protector? Isobel, is there something you're not telling me?"

Isobel shook her head. "It isn't my story to tell," she said, repeating her statement prior to the holiday's start.

"Well, would you care to explain what is your story and what is not? I'm not even here a week and already I find myself tied into a mystery."

"Only Laurie can tell you whenever she's ready. But, if you want my advice, don't push her. You yourself said trust is the key to sharing your heart with someone, and while I know Laurie likes you, she may not be willing to share details of her past yet. I'm sure you of all people can understand that."

Too well, she did. "Yes," Violet said, her heart aching for her young friend and whatever she had been through. "I won't say anything to her, but as long as I'm here, I'll treat Laurie as I would my own granddaughters. You have my word." _And my word that I'll protect her. Though I have no idea about her past, I still feel called to keep her safe. _Called. The very word stirred Violet's soul. Had she indeed been called to be in this girl's life? Jonathan had mentioned that everyone had a purpose. Was this hers? If so, what was she destined to be to a child she already loved like her own?


	12. Talk Brit, Get Hit

WOW, it's been a while! My apologies for the long wait; life and writer's block got in the way. I hope this new chapter is worth the wait! In this entry, we get some further insight into Denker's character, and Jonathan and Violet have the fight we all knew was coming... but not how you might think.

Side note: Jonathan and Violet's fight was inspired by a scene from _The_ _Cutting_ _Edge_, one of my favorite romantic rival comedies. Some of the dialogue has been carried over as well, but hey, I figured if Julian Fellowes can do it with _Mrs. Miniver,_ I can do it with this.

* * *

_If Eden was this gorgeous, I'd give my eyeteeth to have lived in Bible times, _Denker thought as she bent to smell a stalk of foxglove. A laugh pierced her ear and she straightened in time to see Williams and Spratt giggling together – at a joke Spratt had told, apparently, given how Williams had laughed first. Denker glared at the pair. _Of course, every Eden has a snake. _It burned her up how quickly Spratt had been able to win Williams over, glossing over the previous day's argy-bargy like it was no big deal. They had effectively abandoned her on the path, after Williams suggested they all take a walk through the gardens together to clear the air. Probably didn't mean to, at least on Williams's part, but she wouldn't put it past Spratt to monopolize the time of Lady Merton's maid. Was he sweet on her? Denker almost snorted a laugh. _Not bloody likely. Spratt doesn't strike me as a ladies' man, unless we're counting giving advice on frilly knickers._

_Whatever. _Denker waved a hand. _Let them do what they please. I don't need them in order to enjoy myself… even if they did swan off without me. And that's always how it goes, isn't it? Unwanted Denker, forever shadowed by Spratt the Slimy. One day, I will have my time in the sun._

A brief walk through the woods soon brought Denker to the shore of a glorious pond, with a temple on the bank and the most magnificent treehouse she'd ever clapped eyes on in a nearby tree. Hearing the sound of rushing water, she trotted to the nearby balcony and grinned in delight when she saw what was over the edge. _How do you like them apples? _she thought, eyes flicking from one blue fountain to another. I've got to get a better look at this. Denker paused, wondering if she should ask Spratt and Williams to join her. The sound of laughter spilled out from the nearby copse of trees, and she peeked through just in time to see the two of them walk toward what looked like a wide-open meadow. Denker bristled. _Well, if they're not going to include me, I won't include them. Sod them. _With that, she whipped around and strode to the steps that led from the balcony to the fountain garden.

Up close, the fountains were even more splendid, the sunlight turning the falling droplets to diamonds. Denker was unable to resist letting one of the cool jets pour over her hands, wishing the water was deep enough to jump into. How she would love to submerge herself and wash away the slime of Spratt and the shackles of service, be born again into the New World. She had been longing to visit America for years, ever since her uncle migrated here to seek his fortune. Michael Denker had made his home in the state of Maryland, on the half that lay on the opposite side of the Chesapeake Bay. A man who had spent twenty years of his life in service to a noble family, serving as their cook, Uncle Mick had finally decided to take his skills and his hoarded wages to America. Hard work had indeed paid off for him, for he'd begun his new life as a chef's assistant – a sous chef, she recalled the proper term – in a restaurant that specialized in seafood. After a few years, he was able to work his way up to the head chef's position, eventually earning enough money to open his own restaurant in a town called Hurlock. The place had been thriving ever since, and Uncle Mick was the toast of what he called "the Eastern Shore" in his letters – not filthy rich, but well-off compared to the rest of the Denker clan.

It was those letters that had given Denker a craving for freedom. The way he described the United States seemed almost too good to be true: a land where one's social status didn't matter, where fortune smiled upon those who sought her, where one could be free to do as one pleased. No such luck in the United Kingdom, where one's social rank was forever a source of shame if that rank happened to be servant class. No matter if you tried and succeeded in rising through the ranks, there was always some aristocratic toff who never let you forget your past.

Lady Grantham was a puzzle when it came to that. Apparently, she'd been none too chuffed when Tom Branson married Lady Sybil, but much to the old bat's credit, she had come to accept him as her grandson-in-law. She'd even taken Spratt's agony aunt column well, but then again, writing about frills, fripperies, and detergent for dainties wasn't exactly a leap up the social ladder.

_Keep telling yourself that, love, _a snide voice in her head sneered. _Spratt is now a journalist, which most definitely is a few rungs above a servant. And Lady Grantham doesn't care, because it doesn't interfere with his work. You, on the other hand? If a duke proposed to you, you would drop Lady Grantham like a hot potato and take the greatest glee in flaunting your toffee nose at them both. You're just as much of a social-climbing skivvy, if not more so._

_Bog off, _Denker snapped at the voice. _I don't care about becoming some stuffed shirt. I want freedom._

_Yes, so you can rub it in Lady Grantham's face, that you finally got one over on her. And need we also mention Spratt?_

"Shut it!"

"Whoa, I didn't even say anything!"

Denker nearly leaped out of her skin at the voice that came out of nowhere. She whirled around faster than a matador in a bullpen, and there, standing at the entrance to the garden, was a man. He looked to be close to her own age, and his blue eyes were staring at her; a bemused smile was on his face. _Bloody perfect. He probably thinks I'm a nutter, talking to thin air. _"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," she said, mentally cursing herself the instant the words were out. "You could give a person a heart attack."

The man held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "My apologies, ma'am," he said, in a pronounced Southern drawl. "It wasn't my intention to scare you. I was coming in here to do some touch-up work on the fountains. I didn't expect to find anyone in here."

Denker relaxed slightly. "Yes, well… these fountains are so beautiful, I couldn't resist getting a closer look." And now that she thought of it, the closer look she was getting at him wasn't half bad, either. Thick silver hair, those lovely blue eyes. And those eyes were gazing at her with no judgment at all, which prompted her to continue. "I was also, uh… saying goodbye to old ghosts."

He merely smiled. "I understand. Demons stalk this earth, and sometimes we need to chase them off. Other times, it's hard to tell where they're coming from. The devil can take many forms, after all."

"Can he take the form of a butler in journalist's clothing? Or a toffee-nosed countess?"

The man laughed. "Boy, you must have some stories to tell."

"Where do I begin? I suppose you'll want me to say 'Once upon a time.'"

"Ma'am, a Yankee fairy tale begins with 'Once upon a time.' A Southern fairy tale begins with 'Y'all ain't gonna believe this.'"

Denker laughed. "That's an English fairy tale in servant circles."

"Well, there's something we have in common." He tipped his hat to her. "I'm Jack Baylor. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs…."

"Denker, Gladys Denker. And it's Miss, actually."

Mr. Baylor rested a hand on the long-handled scrub brush he'd carried with him. "Now, how is it possible that a fine lady like you never married?"

For the first time in a long time, Denker found herself blushing. No one had ever called her a fine lady before, and it was like brandy going to her head. "No one ever asked me. Good men are hard to come by in England." _Especially if the only men you know are either slime of the earth, married, engaged, or kick with the other foot._

"Well, that's a shame. Maybe you'll find one here." He smiled at her, and Denker felt a flutter deep in the pit of her stomach. "I'd better get to work. These fountains won't clean themselves. I hope to see you again, Miss Denker."

She returned his smile. "I'd like that, Mr. Baylor." Denker walked out of the garden with a spring in her step, feeling like a schoolgirl. _In more ways than one. Maybe he's the freedom I've been waiting for…_

* * *

The first week at Holden Park went surprisingly fast. Each day, Violet and Laurie spent time together in the gardens, and Violet was greatly enjoying getting to know her little friend. Between her lively spirit and her impish sense of humor, it was apparent how much like Sybil she was; yet, at the same time, Laurie was her own person. She was sassier than Sybil, if that was possible; more of a tomboy, but even more of a little mother. Laurie had a heart as big as the sky and was always thinking of herself last – every evening, she would bring Violet a cup of hot chocolate and they would talk until Laurie skipped off to bed. Violet had also been impressed with Laurie's friend Beau, on the day that they'd enjoyed lunch together in the garden. A strapping young lad with his mother's auburn hair and his father's hazel eyes, he was as kind a boy as Violet had ever met – he had even offered to pull out her chair for her at the table, and proceeded to do the same for Laurie and Isobel. That had been the first point in his favor. The second was how well he treated Laurie. Though they joked together as best friends so often did, never did Beau condescend to her or treat her as though she were beneath him. It was obvious that he reciprocated her sweet feelings; the question was, were each of them aware of the other's crush? Any road, it was still too early to push them together. Still, it was incredibly gratifying to know that Laurie was friends with such a decent boy. Violet had made sure to let Annie Jo know after the picnic was over, which pleased the housekeeper to no end.

And the gardens were still magnificent, with something new every day, it seemed. Laurie had finally taken Violet up into the treehouse – an amazing experience; it even had a second story! – and they walked the meadow together at last. It reminded Violet of the wild Highlands of Scotland, for the meadow seemed untamed compared to the immaculate beauty of the main gardens. The hourglass pond at the head of the meadow trail was filled with enormous catfish, and the trails were surrounded by sprays of milkweed, clusters of blue wood asters, and fiery orange butterfly-weed, which, true to its name, attracted stunning monarch butterflies to feast upon the nectar hidden within its petals. Violet had expressed such delight over the wildflowers that Laurie, just the other morning, surprised her with a bouquet of the blossoms at breakfast. Jonathan's eyes had widened in mild surprise at this gesture, and Violet had been unable to resist flashing him a smirk. _Yes, your granddaughter likes me, _she hoped the smirk conveyed. _I'm not the monster you think I am._

_Then why do you keep trying your hardest to convince him otherwise? _her conscience chided. _It's been a week, and you're still harping on him about his country and his character. Would it kill you to actually get along with him?_

_It might, _she fired back. _I've never met a more infuriating man in my life._

_You can dish it out, but you can't take it._

Violet smarted at the truth in that. In actual fact, it was a little frightening that she was faced with a man – an attractive man – who was every bit as clever and sharp-tongued as she was. Had Jonathan been the weak, milksop type, it would have been all too easy to dismiss him, but he was strong, an alpha male in every good sense.

_You can't control him. That's what frightens you so._

_That's not true!_

_Isn't it? Your life has always been about control, and when you can't have it, you lash out. But he can send it back to you as good as you give, and that scares you._

Footfalls suddenly sounded on the garden path, interrupting Violet's peaceful afternoon by the pond. She started violently, jarred out of her thoughts. _And so does that! _Her eyes narrowed when the interloper came into view. _And so does he. _"Do you make a habit of frightening the living daylights out of your guests?"

Jonathan held up his hands. "Easy, milady. I wasn't trying to scare you."

_You don't have to try. _"Are you always so heavy-footed? I've heard elephants make less noise."

"If that's supposed to be a comment on my weight, I'll have you know that most of it is muscle." His teal eyes glittered. "And if you don't believe me, I can give you a preview."

Violet's cheeks flamed red. "I thought we had already established that neither of us has any desire to see the other _en dishabille._"

"We don't. I just get a kick out of seeing you blush."

Violet glared at him from her seat in the temple. "You could be a little more tasteful, you know."

"This coming from a woman whose taste is all in her mouth."

Angrily, Violet gripped her cane and shoved herself up out of her chair. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by that, Mr. Holden?"

"Only that you've spent a week so far in the greatest nation on Earth, and you're still moaning like you've been exiled to Siberia."

"I wasn't aware I'd been transported back to England. Have I missed something?"

Jonathan smiled. "Only that you lost the war. _Twice. _Not very great from where I'm standing."

Violet bored her eyes straight into his, giving thanks that Laurie wasn't there to witness this argument. "Must you throw the most humiliating times in our history back in my face?"

"Considering that you seem to delight in viewing most Americans as third-world savages when clearly, that isn't the case…" Jonathan held out his arms at his sides, gesturing at the grand sweep of the gardens, "Yes. Despite what you may think, titles and a pretty accent don't make you perfect. After all, Jack the Ripper was a Brit."

"I never said we were perfect. Some of us are simply –" Violet abruptly snapped her mouth shut on the next words, praying he wouldn't catch on. Alas, he was too clever for that.

"Better than others?" Jonathan folded his arms and stared her down. "Go on. Say it."

"That is not what I was going to say."

"Your nose is growing. I hope you realize what a snob that makes you sound like."

"Don't be ridiculous! I haven't a snobbish bone in my body!" Violet countered, her knuckles tightening on the handle of her cane. Her blood boiled when he scoffed a laugh. "Don't you dare laugh at me."

"Then prove it. Prove to me you're not just another stuck-up Brit, and I won't laugh at you."

"Anything to make you look like the horse's behind you are," Violet growled.

That was a mistake, for Jonathan's grin became wicked. "Anything, you say?"

Violet grit her teeth, cursing her loose lips. "I am not kissing you, so don't even think about it."

"The thought didn't even cross my mind, milady. Though you keep bringing such things up; maybe _you're_ the one who keeps thinking about it." He smirked while she fumed silently, unable to come back from that particular taunt. "No, I have something more stimulating in mind."

The flush on Violet's face deepened. "If you're trying to proposition me, you're –"

"Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm talking about an actual game, a little friendly competition."

"Competition, perhaps. Friendly, no." Breathing deeply, Violet rested both hands on her cane. "What game are you talking about?"

Jonathan grinned. "Lady Grantham, I challenge you to a one-on-one game of baseball."

If God Himself had descended from the heavens at that very moment, Violet could not have been more surprised. "Baseball? Laurie's favorite sport? Are you mad?"

"As a hatter."

"Obviously! Do you honestly expect me to _run _in this, at my age?" Violet held out the skirt of her long, lilac day dress.

"Not at all. The only thing you're good at running is your mouth. What we're going to do is see how many hits we can get with a baseball bat. One of us will pitch to the other, and whoever gets the most hits is the winner. The one who strikes out, of course, is the loser. No runs, no infield or outfield. Just us, a bat, and a ball." The triumphant smile on his face made Violet want to smack it off. "There's your gauntlet. Put your money where your mouth is, Lady Grantham."

Unable to form words for a good minute, Violet finally huffed and rolled her eyes. "This is ludicrous. I shouldn't have to prove myself to you."

Jonathan chuckled. "So Britain surrenders to the United States yet again?"

That tore it. Violet marched up to Jonathan until their faces were mere inches from each other. Much to her annoyance, he remained as cool as a cucumber. "_Never,_" she vowed, her voice deadly cold. "Get me a bat."

Jonathan's grin remained firmly in place. "Let's play ball."

Moments later, Jonathan had fetched a bat and a bag of baseballs from Laurie's treehouse, and the two of them had ventured out to the meadow to begin their grudge match. It was decided that Violet would pitch first, with Jonathan at bat. While he waited, bat raised over his shoulder, Violet stared at the little white ball, stitched with red, clutched in her hand. _How the devil am I going to throw this thing? Well, Laurie did say it's like cricket; I might as well throw it like I'm in a cricket match. _Taking aim, she lobbed it overhanded in Jonathan's direction; the next thing she knew, the bat had cracked hard against the ball, sending the pale orb screaming out into the fringes of the meadow. Mouth slightly open, she stared at Jonathan, who had his bat at the ready again, his expression clearly saying _got any more? _She had more, all right, but every single pitch she threw at him, he knocked out, no matter how hard she threw it – and her pitches got angrier and faster as her temper grew. His aim with that bat was lethal, and Violet, to her utter chagrin, realized she was going to lose this bet, unless a miracle happened.

Nevertheless, she gripped the wooden bat in hand when her turn came, put on her steely mask to hide the nervousness within, and faced her rival. Something in him must have made him decide to take pity on her, for he threw her a dead potato of a pitch. Easy enough. She aimed for the ball, swung at it – and missed. "Strike one!" Jonathan called, while she grabbed the ball and chucked it back at him. He caught it without missing a beat. "Try this on for size." The next ball he threw was like a bullet from a gun, and Violet swung with all her might, missing the ball and nearly flinging the bat out of her hands. As she fumbled with the implement, Jonathan laughed, which only spiked her ire even further. "You're about as coordinated with that bat as your ancestors were with a musket."

Pushing a loose lock of hair out of her face, Violet threw an evil glare in his direction. "Shut up and throw the bloody ball."

And throw it he did, harder and faster each time. And each time, she missed, with the feelings of resentment and humiliation bubbling under the surface, threatening to erupt. Once, she swung so hard that she very nearly threw herself off balance, arms pinwheeling as she righted herself. And sod him, all he did was laugh.

"Just like the Redcoats; couldn't hit the broad side of a barn," he taunted. "When they say the British don't change, they're not kidding."

Violet was seeing red at this point, so great was her anger. "You make me ill," she snarled at him, planting her feet firmly on the ground and raising the bat, her lips curled in rage. While he fingered the ball, she vowed to herself, _I am going to hit this ball one way or another. And God help him if he gets in my way. He will pay for this. _She saw him wind up, hurl the pitch at her, watched the ball, swung with a loud cry of fury… and _CRACK, _the ball went flying away from her…

Right into Jonathan's face.

* * *

_How could that have gone so wrong? When I said I wanted him to pay for embarrassing me, I didn't mean I wanted to put him in hospital! _

Still in shock over the turn of events that had taken place, Violet sat next to Isobel at the doctor's clinic in town, waiting as Jonathan was treated for his injury… that she had caused. The memory was on repeat in her mind like a motion picture: her furious swing and her growl of anger echoing to the heavens, the ball smacking Jonathan in the face and the drops of blood that had fallen to the grass… _God, forgive me. I didn't want to hurt him!_

_Yes, you did, _her conscience chastised.

Pushing down the guilt, Violet turned to Isobel, who was nonchalantly reading a book, as though they were at the library rather than the waiting room of a clinic. "I didn't mean to hurt him, you know," she began. No response, so she continued, "He could have ducked. He chose to stand there, stupid as a fence post, and let the ball hit him. I suppose you'll say he didn't have enough time to get out of the way, like any sensible person would have done." Still no response. Violet shook her head and looked down at the intricate engraving on the silver handle of her cane. "Isobel, if you're trying to make me feel guilty over this kerfuffle, it's not going to work."

At last, Isobel broke her silence. "It's not guilt you're feeling, Violet." She looked up at her cousin with a twinkle in her cider eyes. "It's fear."

Violet let out a disbelieving chuckle, the one crafted to hide the very accurately diagnosed emotion. "You must be joking, Isobel. Why on Earth would I be afraid?"

Like always, though, Isobel knew her too well. "Because, after all these years, you have finally met your match."

Violet was about to retort with something sharp when the door to the doctor's chambers opened and the physician himself strode out. A tall, lanky man with short white hair and cheerful brown eyes, he greeted the ladies with an incline of his head. "Lady Grantham, I'm Dr. Hendrix. It's a pleasure to meet you. And Isobel, it's great to see you again."

"Likewise, David," Isobel said with a smile. When Violet turned curious eyes to her, she shrugged. "Jonathan's friend. He's been over to the house quite a few times in the past."

Violet nodded and turned her attention back to the doctor. "Is Mr. Holden all right, Dr. Hendrix?"

Dr. Hendrix's face fell. "I'm afraid it's worse than I thought."

Panic immediately gripped Violet's heart. "What? What are you…" Her attention was suddenly snared by the door opening yet again, and a nurse led a moaning Jonathan out, the entire top half of his face covered in bandages. "Dear God, what happened?"

"I'm worried he may have suffered a brain injury from the force of that ball hitting him in the forehead," Dr. Hendrix explained. "He's in some pretty serious pain."

"Oh, my God," Violet breathed, horrified at the very idea. _I did this! God, what am I going to tell Laurie? _"Will you be able to help him? How much damage was done to his brain?"

At once, Jonathan stopped moaning, reached up, and pulled the bandages off his face. He had an ugly cut above his right eye from where the ball had hit him, and a nasty purple shiner was glowing around the eye, but otherwise, he looked none the worse for wear. And the smirk he shot in her direction confirmed that he still had every last faculty he owned. "You're out," he said, prompting Isobel to chortle.

Dr. Hendrix was also smiling. "No more than what's already been done," he laughed, shaking hands with Jonathan on the success of the joke.

The old ire returned in full force. _They tricked me! Dear God, will this humiliation never end? _Embarrassment and anger tying her tongue, Violet spun around and stormed out of the clinic, loosing a furious grunt as she slammed the door behind her.

Still chuckling, Jonathan turned to Isobel. "What's her problem?"

"Don't take it personally, Jonathan," Isobel assured him, as they both made to depart. "I think she's just nervous about the rematch."


End file.
